One Quarter
by Perspex13
Summary: Pulling all the wires might have stopped the bomb, but life at the 12th still explodes. An AU story set immediately following Countdown. #CastleFicathon Summer 2016.
1. Chapter 1

Title: One Quarter

Rating: T

Timeline: Follows Setup/Countdown but goes AU from there.

Summary: Pulling all the wires might have stopped the bomb, but life at the 12th still explodes. An AU story set immediately following Countdown. #CastleFicathon Summer 2016.

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional.

A/N: Another story that takes a left turn after an episode in the series, but one that stays true to the conventional aspects of the show, nothing outlandish like some of my other stories. This tale isn't offered from different perspectives; instead, the camera will shift to follow whoever is involved in a scene. I'm hoping to make this dialog-heavy, but we'll see how that works out. Unless used for emphasis, bold text indicates text messages.

Finally, this story starts with a bit of a rough situation that will shake things up a bit. Trust that there are different roads that lead to the same place.

* * *

 **Can you talk?**

 _ **Not now, Castle. I just need some time to process what happened.**_

 **It won't take long, then I'll leave you alone.**

 _ **I need some time to myself to get past what happened.  
Just give me until Tuesday.**_

 **We need to talk before then.  
It'll be quick.**

 _ **I said no, Castle. We can talk at work.**_

 **It's about work.**

 _ **Then it can definitely wait 'til Tuesday.**_

* * *

 **Week One**

"Detectives, my office," Montgomery calls from the doorway, beckoning Beckett, Ryan, and Esposito. It's early on a murder-free Tuesday morning, their first day back in the office since an incredible week that included a freezer car and a dirty bomb. Whoever said the NYPD didn't appreciate its workers – save 8 million people from exposure to nuclear radiation and you get a few extra days off and a quiet weekend. Who could ask for more?

Beckett's still feeling unsettled, even with the extra time. Shutting out everyone in her life this weekend didn't seem to help her find any clarity or wrestle with the concerns that built to a crescendo during their freezing incarceration, frantic search for the bomb, and climactic defusing. Her teammates seem to be acting like normal, though, already arguing good-naturedly about whether they're being called on the carpet for something or tasked with another, even more unbelievable case.

"Take a seat," Montgomery says from behind his desk, gesturing to the empty chairs. None of the detectives miss the fact that there are three guest chairs here instead of the usual two – this meeting was set up in advance, which means sometime before today. Nor do they miss the absence of a fourth chair. They haven't called Castle about a body drop, but he sometimes wanders in on his own. Clearly, he was going to be excluded from this meeting even if he had shown up this morning. The sum of these planning steps guarantees that each detective is keenly interested in the reason Montgomery called them in.

"I hope you enjoyed your time away?" he asks with a smile but doesn't wait for answers. "I don't often get the opportunity to do this," Montgomery starts with a little smile that blooms as he talks, "but the work you did last week went well above and beyond the call of what the NYPD or any federal agency could expect or hope for," he says while beaming at them. "And while we can't officially recognize what happened due to confidentiality concerns, there are some things we _can_ do."

With that, he stands and turns to the shelf behind his desk. Turning around, the detectives can't help but notice the walnut plaques cradled in his arm. "These are just something you can hang on your wall or prop on your desk, a special recognition of the services you provided to the city. Your personnel files will also reflect the commendations received from both the NYPD and DHS. _Congratulations_ ," Montgomery says with deep emotion, "and _thank you_."

While Esposito and Ryan give each other high fives and flash each other poses with their plaques, Beckett leaves her plaque in her lap, focusing on it with an out-of-place intensity.

"Beckett?" Montgomery asks quietly, not breaking Esposito or Ryan from their antics. "Something wrong?"

"Why just three?" she asks in a clear voice, catching the attention of her teammates. "None of us disarmed the bomb. What about Castle?"

"Castle got his plaque on Saturday," Montgomery answers, looking surprised that Beckett didn't already know about this.

"But why not with us?" Beckett presses. Ryan nods along, his curiosity piqued. "He's part of the team; he should be here, too."

"You two didn't talk this weekend?" Montgomery asks, running a hand over his head. "You don't know?"

* * *

 **Three days earlier**

"Come in, come in," Castle invites his friend the mayor into the loft. "Sorry for the trouble downstairs. You're on the pre-cleared list, even after cleaning me out last poker night, but the temp guy had some trouble finding you. 'Cause you know, your name's not very familiar in this city," he says with a teasing shake of his head.

"No worries, Rick," Bob offers with a laugh. "What's with the fashion statement?" he asks, gesturing at the comforter in which Castle's wrapped himself.

"Reliving my toga days again," Castle says with a smirk, pulling a chuckle from Bob.

"I don't recall you being dressed under your toga," Weldon says with a laugh, "or you being sober while wearing it. Getting old?"

"No, just cold," Castle answers with a sigh as he shuffles over to his seat in front of the fire, "and working on the sober part. Offer you a drink?" he asks as he gestures to the bottle of whiskey next to the nest he'd built for himself.

"Warming the inside as well as the outside? Sure, I'll have one," Weldon replies, pulling a chair over to join Castle by the fire. "We need to talk, and a drink will help."

"It's been a while since I've heard the 'we need to talk' line," Castle says grimly while he plinks some ice into a tumbler for his friend. "You breaking up with me?"

Smirking, Weldon holds out his hand to receive the drink, twirling the amber liquid a few revolutions while collecting his words.

"I hope not," Weldon says with more gravity than Castle expected. "I need to ask you something that'll strain our friendship," he admits. "But before we get started, I have a gift to soften the blow." With the hand not clutching a drink, Weldon reaches into the pocket of his blazer and hands Castle a small, wooden plaque.

" _For services rendered to the City of New York and the United States of America_ ," Castle reads aloud, " _You are commended for the bravery shown during a time of great peril. A grateful city and nation recognize your heroism and commitment to protecting our citizens._ " He huffs as he flips the plaque over, wondering if there is anything more to the inscription. "What, not even an inspirational quote?"

"Copyright issues," Weldon mugs it up. "Seriously though, Rick, that's a _big_ deal," he says while pointing at the plaque. "You saved my city. I know it, the NYPD knows it, and DHS knows it."

"Stop handling me, Bob," Castle teases. "You don't need to butter me up. Mother and Alexis are still out, so it's just the two of us. What's got you worried?"

"You have to keep the circumstances for that award confidential," Weldon answers. "No one can know how close this city came to another horrible disaster. Only a few of us know what happened," he repeats himself, "so your contributions will go unrecognized. Which is too bad, since it might get us out of this mess."

"What mess?" Castle asks, suspecting that they're closing in on the reason for Weldon's discomfort. "I've been behaving myself!"

"That you have," Weldon agrees with a laugh, "surprisingly. It's actually my mess, not yours," he offers before taking a generous swallow of whiskey. "I'm looking at a tough reelection campaign," he explains, "and a tough opponent."

"Not that jackass from last time around?" Castle says with a shake of his head. "I'm surprised that guy could find his way out of the polling booth, much less onto the ticket," he says in dismay. "Besides, I thought you were looking to move up in the world?"

"Soon, I hope," Weldon confesses, happy that he can speak freely with his friend. "One more solid term as mayor and I should have a fantastic runway for Governor or Representative," he says, probably not realizing the tone of awe that's crept into his voice.

"You've already got a great speechwriter," Castle compliments, getting a nod in return, "so what can I do to help?"

"I need you to leave the Twelfth," Weldon answers somberly.

"What?" Castle replies, cocking his head and using a pinky finger to pretend to clean out his ear. "I don't think I heard you right. Why would you need me to leave the Twelfth?"

"The DA is positioning himself to challenge me. Have you met him?" Weldon asks.

"DA Turner? Sure, I've met him a few times," Castle answers, eyes looking into the distance as he tries to recall his previous interactions with the DA. "Fundraisers and openings, those kind of things. Never in my work at the precinct, though. What'd I do to tick him off?"

"It's not about you," Weldon admits. "He's gearing up to campaign against me. He's planning to portray me as an old-time political operator, someone who loads my administration and appointed positions with unqualified cronies and opportunistic donors. You're on the list as one of the highest-profile examples."

With a sigh and a swallow of his drink, Castle thinks about the position his friend's found himself in, and how he can help. Leaving the precinct is unimaginable. But then he'd never have gotten in without Weldon's help in the first place. And he's painfully aware that Weldon could force him out.

After pondering different scenarios, each less palatable than the last, he turns to his friend. "You'd be in trouble regardless of why I stayed, wouldn't you?" Castle asks rhetorically. "Even if Montgomery or the Commissioner invited me to remain it'd still look like I was there through your patronage, or that they were trying to curry favor by humoring your friend." Seeing Weldon's slow nod, Castle sighs again. "How'd you find out?"

"I've got some friends in the DA's office," Weldon says with a small, mischievous smile. "So do you, as it turns out."

"Not that it matters," Castle grumps.

"It matters a lot," Weldon disagrees. "We know what Turner's planning. If you leave now, quietly and without fanfare, his most recognizable example evaporates before he knows it," he explains while making an exploding gesture with his free hand. "Who's he going to point at instead? The public doesn't care about the Director of Public Works or the Vice Chair of the Housing and Healthcare Committee. Turner'll either ostracize himself by jumping up and down about something that looks silly or he'll have to come up with a new strategy. Either way, we're in control. You could be back at the precinct in a few months."

Castle's looking at his drink again, rocking the glass to make the liquid swirl around as much as his thoughts. Weldon gives him space to think, sitting quietly and sipping his own drink. They both know what the answer has to be, so there's no reason to push.

"You'd damn well better win," Castle says to break the silence, trying and failing to hit a joking tone.

"That's the plan," Weldon agrees, looking at Castle to see if he's reading the comment the right way.

"I'll step away," Castle says to make his capitulation clear. "As much as it hurts, I'll step away."

"I'm really sorry about this, Rick, especially the timing. You saved us all and your reward is a kick in the teeth," Weldon admits.

"Politics got me in," Castle answers, "so I shouldn't be surprised that politics knocked me out. I do appreciate the way you've handled this, though," he says, obviously surprising his friend. "You could have ordered me out. You could've ordered Montgomery to toss me. You could've reminded me I only got in with your help. Instead, you just asked a friend for a favor."

"Just as you did a few years ago," Weldon answers, reminding them of how Castle's tenure at the Twelfth began. "Listen, I don't know Turner's timing, but he's probably not ready to roll, yet. You could probably go in for a few more days."

"No," Castle disagrees. "A clean break is probably best. Does anyone at the precinct know?" When Weldon shakes his head, Castle gives a grateful nod. "I'll talk to Beckett and Montgomery. I don't have much there, but I'll go in tomorrow and grab whatever I left, say goodbye to the place while the team's still out."

"Just temporarily," Weldon says to rally his friend's spirits. "We'll get you back as soon as we can."

"Perhaps," Castle mumbles, still depressed and lost in thought.

"Any idea what you might do until this gets sorted out?" Weldon asks to try to cheer his friend. "Maybe head to the Hamptons? Or, I know – a book tour. Talk your agent into scheduling something through the Mediterranean. A few well-placed signatures, rum drinks, and sandy beaches might improve your outlook a bit."

"Actually, I've got something else in mind," Castle says, and Weldon winces at the tone, hearing that trouble is on the way. "Sal's been after me again, and I've been thinking about the possibilities."

"In real life or for a character?" Weldon asks, cringing.

"Both, now," Castle confesses with a grin. "I've already done some prep. Would that blow back on you? Pursuing that option wouldn't do any good if Turner could still give you trouble."

"Lord knows I can't control Sal," Weldon says in some exasperation. "And his disdain for me is well publicized. So, it's safe from my perspective, but not from yours," Weldon answers grimly. "That's not the kind of thing you can just walk into, though."

"I know," Castle confesses. "I've already taken care of the formalities," he says, shocking his friend. "I just need to decide if I'm willing to jump."

"Convenient timing, eh?" Weldon asks with a cagey look and another drink.

"Serendipity," Castle replies with a raised glass and raised brow.

"You sure about this? It might make your return to the NYPD a little tricky," Weldon warns. "And what about Alexis – have you talked to her about this?"

"She'll be fine," Castle says dismissively while Weldon shoots him a dubious look.

"Well, I've leave you to fight that battle on your own," Weldon says with a chuckle. "In recognition of tonight's bad news, I'll also let the timing of your prep with Sal slide for now," Weldon says magnanimously. "But you and I are going to have some drinks after the next poker night. We'd better practice – pour me another and then tell me what you've got in mind."

* * *

"So he's _gone_?" Beckett demands of Montgomery. "That's it? His friend asks him to leave and Castle just walks away?"

"What choice did he have?" Montgomery asks, surprised that he finds himself between Beckett and Castle. "Say he refused to leave – then what? He's at odds with his friend – the _mayor_ – who could sink us all with a single call to 1PP. Castle'd still get booted and we'd all be on the shit list. And don't forget the DA – anything Castle does to antagonize him would put us on the outs with his whole office. Want to guess how well that'd work out for us? No," Montgomery says with a sad shake of his head, "stepping away now is his only option, especially if he wants to protect us and preserve the possibility of ever coming back."

Beckett listens and doesn't challenge Montgomery's retort, but her anger and frustration are obvious to everyone in the room.

"It's gonna feel weird without him around," Ryan offers, trying to move the discussion onto less fraught ground.

"I can't believe he left without a party!" Esposito grouses. "Cheapskate. I mean, come on! He owns a bar now!"

"Don't worry, detective," Montgomery answers with a tone that suggests some disappointment, though it's not clear if it's aimed at the situation he described or Esposito himself. "No party this year, but he wanted me to pass along some going away gifts," he says as he opens his desk drawer. " _Tokens of appreciation_ he called 'em," Montgomery says as he passes a labeled envelope to each of them. "Gentlemen," he says as both Esposito and Ryan have already torn into the envelopes, "Castle told me about what's in there – let me know when you'd like to plan your trip."

"No freaking way," Esposito says in awe as he stares at the voucher for plane travel. " _Vegas_?"

"Not just Vegas," Ryan interjects, having skipped past the voucher to reach the pamphlets. "Two days driving high-performance cars while we're there? Forget the Ferrari," he says with a voice of longing, "I've always wanted to race a Stingray."

"A day of stunt driving followed by a day of racing, I hear," Montgomery nods. "Try not to kill yourselves."

"You, too?" Ryan asks Montgomery before casting a look at Beckett.

"No," Montgomery answers with a laugh. "My wife and I are going on a romantic getaway, _without_ the kids."

Smiling and nodding, the boys turn to Beckett to hear about her gift but are surprised that she's not moved to open her card.

"Sir," Beckett interjects, sounding grim and clutching her unopened card in her hand. "Can I take an hour of personal time? There's something I need to do."

"Go," the Captain nods, closing the meeting for all of them. "Your team'll call you in if anything drops. Say goodbye for us, too."

* * *

Feeling only slightly guilty for blowing by Eduardo at the security desk, Beckett uses the time in the elevator to figure out what to say to Castle. When the bell chimes to signal her arrival on the top floor, she's still grasping for how to approach this conversation, knowing that her anger is misplaced but struggling to find anything else to guide her discussion. Hoping that seeing him will provide some guidance and provide some focus, she strides down the hallway, preparing to knock on his door until he answers. With no possibility of getting called into the precinct, he's probably still asleep.

Taking one long, deep breath to center herself, Beckett raps crisply on the door before stepping back in surprise when it opens immediately.

"Oh, Beckett, hey," Castle says as he stands there with one shoe on and the other in hand, clearly preparing to leave the loft. "You stop by for coffee?" he asks with a playful grin, "I can't deliver them anymore, but I've got a few minutes if you need me to whip up a divine latte."

This unexpected reception makes her feel even more off balance, so Beckett just looks at him oddly for a moment until the object in her hand brings her back into focus.

"What is _this_?" she asks harshly as she thrusts her hand out, producing her crumpled envelop like a damning piece of evidence.

"A card?" Castle answers in confusion as he steps back to let her enter. "I was going to give you a call to go out for coffee this afternoon, but after leaving cards for the guys and Lanie, it didn't feel right to hold yours back. Don't you like it? I can get you something else."

"That's not the point!" Beckett nearly yells back at him. "You're leaving and all I get is this damned card? I knew from the start that you'd leave, but I thought you'd at least have the decency to say goodbye."

"Hold on," Castle objects with a look shifting from confused to angry, "what do you mean, you knew I'd leave? This wasn't a choice, Beckett – I could step aside gracefully and preserve the option to come back, or get kicked out after causing you a lot of trouble."

"How is it that you haven't listened to a word I've said for two years, but when your friend Bob comes calling, you drop everything?" she asks, using anger to mask her hurt feelings.

"I've listened to every single word you've said," Castle promises solemnly, "and many that you've not said. I've also tried to make sure that nothing I did jeopardized your job, which is what I'd be doing if I stayed, for both your team and the mayor. What am I supposed to do here, Beckett?" he asks in frustration. "What's the better solution?"

Pacing and frustrated with her inability to offer a better option, Beckett tries to figure a way out of this dilemma. "What if," she says with a pause and a speculative look, "what if we worked with you unofficially? You couldn't come into the precinct, but we could still call you, could still work together in the field and after hours."

"You know that wouldn't work," Castle offers sadly. "There're too many people who'd still know, including people who work with the DA's office. Perlmutter would nark me out like _that_ ," he says with a snap of his fingers while Beckett gives a grim nod of agreement.

"Come on, Beckett, cheer up!" he rallies. "You've looked forward to my departure since the day you arrested me. I thought you'd be happy about this. Or are you just so used to fighting with me that you can't help yourself anymore?" he teases.

"How can you say that?" she answers with a heartbroken question, losing her anger and instead looking hurt. "Why would I be happy about this? I already told you, Castle – I've gotten used to you pulling my pigtails."

If she'd hoped that the reference to their similar bygone discussion would lighten the mood, Beckett's mistaken. Instead, it's Castle who grows pensive, clearly struggling with whether to say what's on his mind. Beckett recognizes the expression and encourages him to speak with a raised brow and expectant look.

"That's the other reason we can't do this unofficially," Castle admits. "Why do boys tease girls? Why have I reveled in our sparring?" he asks with a long sigh. "I need a break, Kate. It's hard to get over you when I'm sitting three feet away."

"So, this is about Josh," she replies flatly. "So much for the _always_ you promised me."

"You told me, just a few days ago, that you wanted to make things work with him," Castle says, using the opportunity to put on his other shoe and do up the laces as a way to avoid looking at her. "You can't do that with the way things are. It's not fair to me and it's not fair to Josh."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Beckett asks, knowing that she's changing moods again, returning to anger.

"It means that we both deserve more," Castle replies, getting angry himself. "You're a detective, for crying out loud. You know perfectly well how I feel about you. You're a beautiful woman, Kate, and you know it – you don't need me fawning after you to boost your self-esteem. And even if it feels good, I deserve more than that. Honesty about my chances, at least."

"That's not…," Beckett tries to interject, but Castle keeps talking.

"And Josh deserves more, too. Have you ever confided in him, talked to him about the things that you and I discuss all the time? Your mother, your father, your hopes for the future – does he know _any_ of that?" Castle asks, finally looking up to see a stunned Beckett. "You've got two partial relationships right now, Beckett – I provide some emotional support and Josh provides some physical comfort. But that means that each of us provides a way for you to hide from the other. That can't work. Trust me," Castle says with a tone of long suffering, "I know that can't work."

"So I have to choose," Beckett finally says after thinking about Castle's words for several moments. "This stuff with the mayor is all a smokescreen to make me choose," she accuses, suspecting that she's being extreme.

"Beckett," Castle says in sad frustration while shaking his head, "you already made your choice. Twice."

Castle pauses, leaving some opportunity for Beckett to correct him, but instead she stares at him while looking skittish and confused.

"You've seen me at the precinct," Castle explains, "and you've seen me at home," he says, pointing towards the room in which she stayed after losing her apartment to a madman's bomb. "I don't get better than that, Kate," he confesses with a pause, while Beckett recalls how off-balance she felt after learning what he was like at home. "And you hooked up with Demming not two weeks after seeing me here," he says in demoralized resignation. "But still, I let my imagination run free, let myself hope."

"You said you didn't want me," Beckett answers in a small voice, shocking Castle. "That's what Tom said – that he asked and you said there was nothing between us."

Scrubbing his hair and looking at his watch, Castle groans in frustration. "If that's what he said, then he had some fun with the truth," he sighs, "not that I can blame him. He asked if the way was clear. As much as I wished the answer were different, I knew I had no claim on you. Plus," he says in an attempt to lighten the mood, "I think we both know what you would've done to me if you found out I chased off a potential suitor."

"But you did," Beckett contradicts, not out of anger but instead confusion. "You still invited me to the Hamptons, even before I broke it off with Tom."

"It turns out that I can't always contain my selfishness," Castle admits. "Even now. You'd just told me that you wanted to make things work with Josh and I was _this far_ ," he says, holding his finger and thumb up with virtually no distance between them, "from telling you… well, it's probably best that Josh showed up when he did," he demurs, skittering away from the topic again.

"Telling me what?" Beckett pushes.

"Always looking to secure the confession, eh, Detective?" Castle dodges, pulling out and shrugging into a black leather jacket to drive home his need to end this conversation. "Well, not this time. I think I've already said more than enough, more than I should have," he adds with a grimace. "I just want you to be happy, Kate. God knows you deserve it."

Beckett's quiet for a while, standing in place and thinking about Castle's unusual candor. "Things with Josh might not work out," Beckett says in a small voice while looking at her feet. When her comment is met only with silence, she raises her head to see Castle looking angrier than he has at any point in this discussion.

"What am I, Beckett?" he nearly growls.

"Frustrating?" she answers, trying her hand at defusing the situation with humor but succeeding only in making him look more upset. "What do you want me to say? You're a writer?"

"I'm a writer," Castle confirms with a nod. "And a father. And a man. I am _not_ ," he says fiercely, "a back-up plan or a safety net."

"I thought," Beckett returns the barb with some heat of her own, "you were a _friend_."

"I am," Castle confirms. "I'll be a better friend after I take some time to get over you."

"But I don't want you to leave," Beckett confesses in a low tone, staring at him with wide eyes. When he says nothing, she tries for a prompt. "How long until you can come back?"

Looking at his watch again, Castle shrugs. While Beckett's shifting moods has made this a difficult conversation, he suspects his next comments will make that worse. "Who knows how long it'll take Bob to sort out the situation with the DA?" he asks rhetorically. "My new employer's going to push me to commit for at least six months, but I'm planning to hold the line at three, so I can still spend the summer with Alexis. Assuming I don't get fired for being late to my first meeting."

" _What_?!" Beckett nearly shouts. " _Six_ _months_? You've got a job? And you're dressed like that for a meeting?"

Chuckling at his innate ability to aggravate and surprise Beckett so easily, Castle provides an explanation before she gets more upset. "Yeah, I've got a job. I think you and I both know what kind of trouble I'd get into with too much idle time on my hands," he says with a wry look and a mischievous smile, hoping a reference to his more impish tendencies will lighten the mood. But Beckett doesn't look mollified.

"I've been thinking about a character – not sure if it's someone in Nikki's universe or not, but the experience will help me figure that out. You wouldn't believe the paperwork for this one, but it's done. I still need to meet with the guy who'll be my boss. It's an informal meeting," he says while gesturing to his outfit of a leather jacket, white shirt, jeans, and black Chucks, "and I'm trying to avoid putting on airs. He's already not a fan of this setup and he's the one with whom I've got to hammer out an agreement on how long I'll stay."

Rather than cheer her, though, his explanation makes her look hurt and angry again. "Didn't take you long to move on, did it?" Beckett asks. "New job and new character. Why bother worrying about coming back?"

"I never wanted to leave, Kate," Castle replies, using quiet honesty to counter Beckett's anger. "But maybe it's for the best I've been knocked out of your orbit. I don't think I would've been strong enough to leave on my own," he confesses, "or to avoid interfering in your relationship. This way, you'll have time to move forward without distraction and I'll have time to figure out where I go from here."

"Back to the precinct," Beckett says, voicing her support for his eventual return.

"Perhaps," Castle allows. "If that's what we all want. I'm not going to ask Bob to force the way again."

"So, what's the new job – teaching?" she asks. "I've always thought you'd be an amazing teacher," she confesses with a blush, looking down.

"Not teaching," Castle answers, wondering why he's surprised that she knows him so well, "not yet, anyway. This is something different. I'm keeping it under wraps for now. Please don't look into it. We both know you could figure it out immediately, but just give me some time. Please."

Beckett nods slowly in response to his question and mumbles something that sounds affirmative, looking less upset. Without anger to organize her thoughts, though, she seems to be at a loss about how to proceed, so Castle makes a suggestion.

"Look, Kate, if you ever need help, you can call me day or night. But, otherwise, just give me some time. It's the first week of March. Let's set a time right now when we'll sit down and talk about all this. Lunch at Remy's," he suggests as if inspired, "just like old times. A familiar setting, a meeting in the middle of the day, no worries about connotations, expectations, or breaking dinner plans."

"Yeah, okay," Beckett says slowly. "Your birthday?"

"Are you kidding?" Castle asks with a smile. "How could I possibly move on by then? How about the last Friday in April? Noon at Remy's."

"It's a date," Beckett answers, sounding sadder than Castle would've expected.

* * *

"So, you're the hotshot writer," the dark-haired man in the diner's booth says to Castle as he pointedly refuses to stand. While he likes to flatter himself with it, Castle thinks that this guy also fits the 'ruggedly handsome' description. Older but remarkably fit, comfortably dressed in slacks, a white button-down, and a blazer. And dark brown eyes that look like they don't miss much. "You don't look like much to me."

Castle hides his smile at the opening salvo, privately content that he dressed right for the occasion. Better to take a shot like that than to prompt a sneering reaction or, worse, an unfortunate nickname that might haunt him before he starts. Taking a seat across the table, Castle extends a hand. "Rick Castle. Though I'll be going by my original name of Rick Rodgers while I'm around," he explains, withdrawing the hand he suspected wouldn't be accepted.

"The guys ain't stupid, Rick," the man says while knocking a hand on the table to emphasize his point. "They might not be big on reading, but they ain't dumb. And it's not like you haven't made a spectacle of yourself in other ways."

"True," Castle answers with a small grin, knowing it's wasted on his companion but letting it loose anyway just for his own benefit. "We thought using my original name would be best, but we're not hiding who I am. It'll come out eventually, and we'll deal with it when it does."

His companion harrumphs into his coffee mug and eyes Castle critically for a few moments before finally extending a hand. "Name's Costa. Ben Costa." After shaking hands, he fixes Castle with another glare. "We tellin' em you'll only be around for six months, or we lettin' that slide, too?"

"Three months," Castle corrects, raising a hand to catch the waitress's attention and pointing to Costa's coffee cup to show his desire for the same.

"How in the hell does this dumb-ass plan make sense if you're only around for three months?" Costa grouses. "Unless you're naturally gifted, it'll take me that long to teach you how to scratch your ass the right way, never mind actually do something useful."

"Sounds like that says more about your teaching than my learning," Castle replies, shocking Costa. "I'm a quick study. And if I'm not," he continues reasonably, "then I'll be gone before it matters. What'd be more distracting," he asks, noting Costa's reddening face and neck, "having me underfoot for three months or six? Plus, the longer I'm around, the more likely people are to figure out who I am."

"Yeah, but the whole reason Sal's forcing this on us is for the publicity. I get nothing but hassle if you come and go without notice, plus then Sal would be pissed," Costa complains again, prompting Castle to understand that he'll need to learn how to read the different degrees of Costa's complaining, since that appears to be his main form of communication.

"In the unlikely event that we make it three months without this going public," Castle says with a smile for the waitress who delivers his coffee, watching her walk away with an extra sway in her hips, "then we'll do something big. An event or something," he suggests, imagining the possibilities.

"Maybe," Costa allows, dismissing the topic. "Look, I don't want you. I know you're square with Sal, you've met the requirements, and Will signed off on everything, but it's going to be a real pain in the ass to have you around, and that's if you shut up and listen, which doesn't seem like your strength."

Castle tilts his head to accept the insight as accurate, but remains uncharacteristically quiet for now.

"But it's not my call. So, here's how things are going to work: you're one of the guys. You pull the same shifts, do the same work, and act the same way. You know what that means?" Costa asks in obvious challenge. "You've got some long nights in your future. Everyone pulls a night shift, but the new guys usually partner up with an older guy, so they can double-up on shifts and downtime. That means a full day – a full 24 hours. Think you can handle that?"

"I'll be fine," Castle assures him. "I've done worse."

"Bullshit," Costa says roughly. "You never done nothing like this," he says, smirking at Castle's flinch at the bad grammar. "And you're not up for it, with that belly and those scrawny arms." Now Castle looks a little put out: he'd been preparing for this possibility and thought he was making great strides at getting into shape. He catches a glint in Costa's eye that he hopes means the insult was exaggerated, but he'll still need to up his gym time again, he realizes with a sigh.

"But some things will be different, too," Costa continues. "Your colleagues get paid, but you don't. Your payment is the _experience_ ," he says while pursing his lips and rolling his eyes. "And no vacation time, either. New guys don't get to beg off for a while anyway, but I'm just telling you now so you don't get any ideas. If there's something you wanna do, better take care of it on your off days or convince someone to switch shifts with you."

Castle nods along, already having hammered most of these details out with others. The key to this meeting is to introduce himself to Costa and to nail down the timing.

"That's fine," Castle says easily. "I can start as soon as we agree on the duration. Three months is all I've got to give. One quarter of the year. Can we make that work?"

Staring at Castle for several long moments, Costa finally lowers his coffee cup and stretches out a hand again. "Fine," he says, shaking Castle's hand. "One quarter. Now get moving – you start tonight at 6:00."

* * *

A/N2: As agreed between Castle and Costa, this story will cover a quarter of the year, starting after Countdown. Each chapter will cover a week of the quarter. So, the plan is to have 13 chapters, with maybe one or two extra at the end. Following the air date from Countdown, that means we're talking about roughly March-May 2011. As for what Castle is doing with Costa, that'll be discussed in later chapters. It's based on research, not first-hand knowledge, and there's some ambiguity about changes since 2011, so there's one aspect of his situation that I might have to fudge, but we'll address that later.

Before signing off on this chapter, I wanted to says thanks (again!) to Castkettfan5 and GeekMom for giving this chapter a look (and for tutoring me on the Ficathon details).


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional.

* * *

 **Week Two**

"Welcome back," Beckett says as she hands Lanie a glass of wine before wandering over to her couch, "how was home?"

" _Oppressive_ ," Lanie answers with pursed lips. "I go home for two reasons," she says with broken patience, pausing for a desperate gulp of wine. "To remind myself of why I live so far away from my parents, and to see them just enough that they don't feel the need to visit me here. _Ugh!_ " she says in frustration, taking another large swallow of wine and holding out the glass for a top-up. Beckett raises her brows, surprised that Lanie's asking for more before she could even take a sip.

"If I hear one more _when_ question, I'm going to scream," Lanie promises as Beckett walks back to grab the bottle from the counter.

" _When_ question?" Beckett asks as she returns with the bottle and refills Lanie's glass.

" _When_ am I going to settle down? Because I can't possibly be happy if I'm single. _When_ am I going to start popping out grand-babies? Because they're ready for them, even if I'm not. _When_ am I going to leave the dirty, corrupt city and move back home?" Lanie parrots, growing more exercised with each question. " _When_ am I going to give myself a Y-incision to make it all stop?!"

"Sounds like quite a trip," Beckett says in a commiserating tone, trying to support her friend. "Not exactly the preferred use of 'vacation' days."

"Not _at all_ ," Lanie agrees fervently. "Though," she says with a sly voice and a lifted brow, "writer boy's got a much better idea of how to spend vacation time, doesn't he?"

"Nice segue, Lanie. So, you got your card, then?" Beckett asks, surprised that Lanie's sat on the topic of Castle's departure for this long. She assumed that Lanie didn't know about it yet, since she hadn't broached the topic. "Are you headed for Vegas, too?"

"You're going to Vegas?" Lanie asks, forgetting about her trip.

"No, the boys are. Driving hot cars by day and gambling by night," she answers with an indulgent look. "They're so excited they can't sit still. They should be completely strung out by the time they get back."

"Oh," Lanie answers, noticing that Beckett still hasn't shared her gift. "No, it's Puerto Vallarta for me," she admits sheepishly. At Beckett's shocked look, she explains. "There're always medical conferences there, because it's an easy sell to get doctors to take time off if they get to go somewhere nice. Every year I put in a funding request, and every year it gets shot down. OCME will give me the time, but they won't cover food, travel, or lodging. I don't know how Castle found out about it," she says with a curious look, "but I'm all over the next conference. Already got the time approved," she says with a smile.

Beckett looks happy for her friend as she sits on the couch, but she remains quiet. Finally, Lanie can't take it anymore.

"Alright, already. What'd he get you?" she asks, putting her friend on the spot.

"A trip," Beckett says vaguely, hoping that'll be sufficient. Lanie's expression dispels that notion quickly. "To an exclusive resort in Florida. On the beach. For two."

"Waitaminute," Lanie breaks in. "He's sending you away for a romantic trip with Josh? Or was he hoping for…"

"No," Beckett cuts Lanie off. "He was just trying to make me happy," she admits in a quiet voice. "He said he just wants me to be happy."

"Kate, I was only gone for a week. What in the hell happened?" Lanie asks, trying to catch up on developments. "And why didn't you call me?"

"It's been a hell of a week, Lanie," Beckett confesses, shocking herself and her friend with the tear that escapes. "Everything's gone wrong."

"Kate," Lanie says kindly as she stands so that she can sit right next to Beckett, pulling her into a sideways hug with an arm around her shoulder. "Tell me what that man did to mess everything up."

"He left," Beckett answers sadly, laying her head on her friend's shoulder. "I was so upset, Lanie, and so angry," she says with a sigh as she runs a hand through her hair. "I was angry he left and angry he didn't tell me in advance, even though he tried and I told him to leave me alone," she finishes in a low tone, admitting that she feels bad about not talking with Castle when he tried to reach out. "So I went to see him. He explained why he was leaving," she says before taking a long pause. "Then he explained why he can't see me anymore."

"Kate?" Lanie prompts, surprised already at how serious this conversation has become.

"He said it might be a good thing that he was forced to leave, that his… attraction to me wouldn't have let him walk away. He said," she starts before sitting up and pausing to swallow, "he said… well, he almost said exactly how he felt about me. And then he said he just wanted me to be happy, wanted me to make things work with Josh."

"That doesn't sound like him," Lanie says in surprise. "When you were with Tom, he didn't exactly step aside."

"That's part of the reason he's stepping away now," Beckett answers. "He said it was selfishness, that he might not be able to stop himself from doing it again if he stuck around. And since I'd said that I wanted things to work with Josh, he was trying to give me what he thought I needed."

"Now, hold on," Lanie says with a raised hand. "You're all over the place. You said you wanted things to work with Josh? To Castle? When?!"

"Another _when_ question, Lanie?" Beckett tries to joke in distraction. When Lanie's sour look signals her failure, Beckett sighs. "It was during the bombing case, the one with DHS. It just feels like I'm finally in a place to maybe try for something that lasts."

"Okay, I can see that," Lanie acknowledges, "in general. You've kind of mellowed in the last few years. I'm sure Castle being here during that time is just coincidental," she says with admirably-contained sarcasm. "But what's this bit about 'what he thought I needed'?"

"You know how I spent my extra time off after the case, when you decided to go home?" Beckett asks her friend without waiting for an answer. "I spent it thinking," she says with a sigh, then takes the last swallow of wine. "Thinking about what I want – in my job, in my future. Thinking about who I want," she confesses.

"Okay," Lanie encourages, "that's not bad. What did that thinking tell you?"

"That Castle was right." Beckett sighs from the admission, the grabs the neck of the wine bottle roughly as if the speed of her refill was of critical importance.

"Girl, you'd better explain 'cause I'm lost again."

"Why am I with Josh?" Beckett asks rhetorically. "Castle'd say inertia, because it's a 'cool word,'" she says in his intonation, "and it exculpates my behavior with a scientific principle," she says with a small smile. "But the real answer is fear. I was afraid to get involved with Castle a year ago. I was afraid to share things with Josh in case the relationship actually turned real. And I was afraid to let go of a safe relationship to take a chance with Castle. And now it's all falling apart."

Lanie looks confused, suddenly confronted with a talkative Beckett and too many conversational topics to pursue. Grasping at one before her friend grows reticent, she starts where her attention was first snared. "What was Castle right about?"

"He said that he's my emotional partner, while Josh is the physical."

"I can see where that'd make him upset," Lanie says with a look of disapproval, "but I expected more of him."

"He wasn't complaining about our lack of a physical connection," Beckett clarifies quickly. "In fact, he didn't sound jealous at all. He just said it wasn't fair to either of them – that each had an incomplete piece of me, and that I could I always run away to the other."

Looking up from her glass, Beckett sees her friend looking at her warily.

"He was right," she says again, prompting a sigh from Lanie who clearly wanted to agree but didn't want to risk upsetting her friend. "So, he's stepping aside, giving me what he thinks I want – a chance for a full relationship with Josh. One where I can _share_ ," she nearly chokes on the word, "all the details of my life, all the parts I haven't trusted him with."

Lanie sits quietly for a few long moments, looking at her friend and wondering how everything can get so complicated. Humor, she remembers, always seemed to work for Castle, even when he and Beckett were at odds. So, she tries for the same approach he might use.

"I thought Castle wrote mysteries," Lanie says quietly, "not romances."

"This isn't a romance," Beckett corrects, sounding bereft. "It's a tragedy."

"Why?" Lanie interjects. She doesn't know Josh well, but Beckett hasn't mentioned many complaints before now. "Josh must be happy about this, right? I don't remember him being a big fan of Castle or the time that you two spent together."

"He wasn't," Beckett agrees. "He never said as much, but he pretty much hated Castle, his books or his presence. Josh is a pretty competitive guy, and he didn't like having a potential rival around."

"So, what?" Lanie asks, not sure where this is going. "Is he gloating or something?"

"Not really," Beckett answers, looking like she's struggling to articulate her concern. "That's kind of what I expected, that he'd strut around like an alpha male, thinking that he'd driven Castle off." Lanie tilts her head and wonders if Beckett hears the disdain in her own voice as she's speaking. "But instead he just kind of seems withdrawn, like a game ended and he's not sure what to do next."

Noticing Lanie's raised-brow look of surprise, Beckett decides to give her a bigger surprise. "And guess what he said on Friday, while we were having dinner?" she says while waving a hand toward the kitchen.

Lanie's not willing to guess, urging her friend on with one hand while taking a drink with the other.

"He said ' _I guess you'll want to move in now_.' Just like that," she says, taking another drink herself while Lanie gapes like a fish.

"He _didn't_ ," Lanie contradicts after closing her mouth. When Beckett just nods, Lanie takes another drink before setting her glass on the table. "And he's still alive?"

"I was too shocked to hurt him. I mean, the nerve of him, right? I wasn't sure if I was more offended by his assumption that _I'd_ move in with _him_ or that without Castle I'd just default into seeking shelter from the only remaining man in my life," Beckett grumbles. "And don't even get me started on what the whole ' _I guess you'll want_ ' business means about his feelings on the subject."

"Well," Lanie says after standing and looking conspicuously around Beckett's apartment, "it doesn't look like you're packing up for an imminent departure. Or doing anything to make room for him here."

"No," Beckett says resolutely. "We're leaving things the way they are for now."

"Why?" Lanie says, catching Beckett off guard. "I don't mean why aren't you moving in together, but why are you together at all? I'm sorry, Kate, but you haven't sounded like someone who's invested in a relationship."

"I'm not sure we are together," Beckett confesses. "We're spending a few days apart to kind of let things settle down, then we'll see where things stand."

"And Castle?" Lanie prompts, not letting her friend off the hook.

"He's off at his _new job_ ," she answers bitterly. "Some big secret where he's working on a new character to replace Nikki."

"Kate," Lanie says soothingly, "you know damn well that nothing will replace Nikki, or you. Sounds like he's trying to stay busy so that he doesn't get in your way. He set you free, Kate, and you know what that means."

"No," Beckett disagrees. "He's not waiting for me to come back. He made it clear that he wants some time alone," she explains sadly. "Two months. To get over me."

"Won't work," Lanie disagrees with confidence. "Since the day he started at the precinct he's been thrilled to see you. I don't see that changing anytime soon. _And_ ," she drawls out, "why give him the time to get over you? If things with Josh don't work out, or if you decide that it's not worth trying to work them out, why wait two months to see him?"

"Because I burned that bridge," Beckett confesses, "or maybe blew it to smithereens. I meant to tell Castle that maybe Josh wasn't an issue."

With a look that makes it clear she might've already figured this out, Lanie probes for details. "If that's what you _meant_ to tell him, what did you actually say?"

"Oh, Lanie, it came out all wrong," Beckett confesses. "It sounded like I'd come to Castle if things with Josh didn't work out."

"Wait, wait, wait," Lanie says, holding out her hand with palm facing Beckett. "You told the man who's had two wives walk out on him that he'd be your second choice? Oh, Kate," she says, shaking her head. "What a mess."

The ladies drink in glum silence for a few moments until Beckett takes a deep breath. Lanie puts her glass down and focuses on her friend, who looks pensive. "You're thinking about something. Tell."

"Well," Beckett says slowly, "I've been thinking that whatever slim chance I've got of keeping Castle in my life – as a friend or something more – goes back to the precinct. So," she confesses, "I've been thinking that maybe that's where I should start."

* * *

"I'm getting seriously offended by your lack of interest in me," Castle hears over the din of blaring music. Turning, he looks up to see a woman with pale blond hair casting him a challenging look, hands on hips and foot tapping. It's a pose he recognizes well, though he doesn't know for the life of him what he's done to deserve it from this stranger.

"I think you'll survive," he answers, standing to offer her a chair. As she slips into the seat, he gives the waitress a subtle hand gesture to get another round of drinks delivered.

"I'm serious," his new friend continues as he sits down again. "I've seen you looking at me, but aside from the farm boy over there," she says while nodding to one of Castle's colleagues over by the jukebox, "you're the only one from your group who hasn't hit on me."

"Don't take Tommy's lack of interest personally. He's getting married in April. All hope would die and angels would lose their wings if he tried to mess around. Plus, we'd have to kill him. As for me," Castle says with a playfully intrigued look, "we both know that any effort on my part would be wasted on you."

"Oh, really?" she replies, returning his look with her piercing blue eyes and accepting the challenge. "And why is that? You think you're too big for me?" she asks while comically flexing her arms in a parody of a bodybuilder. "Too interested in chatting with your friends?" she says as she looks pointedly at the vacated chairs around the table, their former occupants chatting women up all throughout the upscale bar. "Or maybe you're too old?" she says, pinning him with a look while obviously fishing for a reaction. "Too old to remember how to play the game, or too old to be able to follow through if you win?"

" _Please_ ," Castle says with a roll of his eyes. "We both know my limitation," he says as he lowers his voice and leans in, compelling her to do the same to hear his retort. "Even though I'm very _big_ ," he says with a perched brow and sinful voice. "And even though I'm exceptionally _experienced_ ," he whispers, drawing her even closer "neither of those things is a limitation."

"So, what is it?" she whispers back, so close to him that he can feel the tickle of her words on his face.

"My limitation," he confides as he looks into her eyes, "is that I'm too male."

Eyes widening in shock at his insight, his new friend leans back in her chair after taking a quick look around. "What are you, a detective or something?"

"No," Castle says with certainty after barking a laugh. "No, I am absolutely _not_ a detective," he repeats, looking wistful. "I'm just a kindred spirit. I suspect you and I are here for the same reasons tonight."

"We might both be nursing broken hearts, but _I'm_ not here to play Peter Pan, setting my pack of Lost Boys loose on the women of New York," she says with a sweeping gesture around the bar. This time, a few of Castle's group look back or nod, obviously interested in how Castle managed to chat up the most beautiful woman in the place without leaving his chair. "Although," she says with a pause, looking at Castle closely again, "you're not actually their leader, are you? They seem to expect you to be, but they don't know you well, do they?"

"Now who's the detective?" Castle answers with a smile, impressed by her assessment of the dynamics at play. "I'm the new guy, just joined up last week. This is maybe our third time out."

"The new guy's gotta buy the drinks?" she guesses.

"Among other requirements," Castle says with a grumble, pointedly not satisfying his new friend's look of curiosity. Thankfully, her follow-up is cut short by the arrival of the drinks Castle ordered.

"Is this a mid-life crisis career change, then?" she asks boldly as she toasts Castle for the drink and takes a sip.

"It's more of a temporary thing," he replies with a wry smile, ignoring another crack about his age. "I'm a writer. I'm hoping that spending some time with these guys will give me new stories to tell."

"I think the kind of stories these guys have to share," she says acerbically while looking around again, "would be tall tales of sexual exploits. Is that your thing?" she asks with a wicked look.

"To read, maybe," Castle returns her serve, "but not to write. I'm more into character studies. What about you?"

"I like to study characters, too," she teases, pulling another laugh from Castle. "That's another reason I came over."

Castle cocks his head as if scanning her, doing so long enough to win a pointed return look. "But you're not a writer," he says. "You don't know the secret handshake. So, attorney?"

"No," she replies with a laugh, "though mom and dad would've been happy if you were right. I'm the client relations director at Aegis Marketing."

"So, you sell the people who sell things," Castle summarizes to the delighted surprise of his guest, who looks impressed that he recognized her firm and understands her job.

"The name's Keates," she says happily, looking surprised again when he slaps his forehead with an open palm.

"Of course it is," he laments to himself.

"Fred Keates, to my friends," his new friend continues, wondering why her companion had such a strong reaction to her surname. But now he looks curious, which seems to be his default state.

" _Fred?_ " Castle asks, looking intrigued. "It might be a low hurdle, but you're definitely the hottest Fred I've ever met. Nickname, or is this an inverse 'boy-named-Sue' situation?"

"Court-ordered change, actually," she says while looking at him playfully. "My given name's actually Winnifred. I used to go by 'Winnie,' until one too many people called me 'Pooh Bear' and I snapped."

"Pooh Bear?" Castle answers, a teasing look firmly in place. "I don't see it. Maybe if we could dip you in some honey…"

"Says the guy I suspect is the human incarnation of Tigger," Fred laughs as Castle tips his head in acknowledgment.

"My daughter agrees with you," Castle laughs. "She thinks that's where she got her red hair."

"I've gotta say, you have a very odd seduction technique," Fred offers as Castle takes a drink. "Ignore me, tell me you've got a daughter, tease me about my name, and don't give me yours," she says with a raised brow. "Maybe I should come up with a name for you."

"Rick," Castle offers promptly, anxious to avoid anything Tigger-related. "Rick Rodgers," he says as she extends his hand for an introductory shake. "But I thought we'd already worked out that there's no seduction attempt going on here. You're not interested and I'm not ready."

"Back to the women who broke our hearts, huh?" Fred asks with a tone of compassion. "I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours."

"There's nothing to tell, I'm afraid," Castle sighs before taking another drink. "Unrequited love. It's not like I lost something I ever had."

"Not true," Fred says quickly and earnestly. "Losing an unrequited love might hurt the most," she says, making Castle think she's speaking from experience. "Everything is still perfect, ideal. To go from that to nothing? That _hurts_. It might not be a lost relationship, but it's lost hope. Sometimes I wonder if that doesn't leave a deeper scar."

Remaining quiet, Castle takes another drink while nodding slowly. "You, too?"

"Not this time," Fred says with a sigh. "Just the usual stuff for me. Commitment issues, incompatible life goals, discomfort about going public. Nothing I haven't seen before. _Sucks_."

"That it does," Castle agrees with a nod. "But you don't have to hide the truth from me, you know," he says with a quick glance at her. "I'm a stranger, a nobody. Walk out that door and you never have to see me again. So, you could talk about what's really bothering you if you'd like."

"I thought you were a writer, not a psychologist?" Fred pushes. "Okay, hotshot, what's really bothering me?" Fred asks, her head cocked to the side, challenging her new friend to explain.

"You're hurting," Castle says quietly, "wondering if there's something about you that led to the end of your relationship. Wondering if someone else, or the possibility of someone else, contributed to your partner's side of the breakup." At this, Fred's eyes grow watery and she looks down, staring at her hands on the table. "You wanted to feel beautiful and desired tonight. And you are, obviously," he says with a smile, trying to encourage her to cheer up. "You came here to remind yourself that you're attractive, even if it doesn't feel like it right now."

When Fred continues to look down, Castle tries to jostle her for a response. "And that's _why_ ," he drawls out, "you felt compelled to see why the most stunning man you've ever encountered had the audacity to leave you alone." Emboldened by her huff of a laugh, Castle cajoles just a little bit more. "Just because I'm not pursuing a relationship right now and just because I know my advances would be rebuffed doesn't mean that I'm blind to your beauty, you know."

"Thanks," Fred mumbles, finally looking up. "You must be one hell of a storyteller," she mumbles as she plays with her drink. "Can we shift the focus to you for a little bit?" she asks, looking anxious to regain her balance. "You're cute, buff, well-dressed, and articulate. You could have a number of admirers and I'd think you'd be looking to go a little wild to get over your heartbreak."

"I'm trying something new," Castle answers with a self-deprecating huff. "I seem to find myself in this situation every few years," he confesses, staring at the hands that he's using to hold onto his drink. "In the past, I've cut loose enough that 'going a little wild' would be a cute but completely insufficient description."

"What's changed?" Fred asks, looking curious. "Your daughter?"

Castle's already nodding. "Yes, definitely. She's put up with an awful lot from me over the years and she's old enough to be fully aware of and mortally shamed by misbehavior on my part," he says with an abashed shrug. "Old enough that I'm definitely keeping her away from this lot," he says with a nod to the bar and the guys he'd come in with. "But it's also lost its appeal. I think," he speaks slowly, as if coming to this conclusion as he's thinking out loud, "acting like that usually made me feel worse, not better, even if I didn't realize it right away." Mulling this thought while he takes another drink, he nods as he decides it's accurate. "I'm trying to be better."

"Tell you what," Fred says in a bracing tone. "Let's help each other out. I can hang out with you so that you have a friend. Given my preferences, you won't have to worry about relapsing," she says while waggling her eyebrows, pulling a laugh out of Castle. "And you can take me dancing. That'll help me unwind."

"What kind of dancing?" Castle asks suspiciously as if Fred's trying to pull a fast one on him.

Looking confused, she shrugs. "What do you mean, _what kind_? The kind where the DJ plays music and we move to the beat. Pop dancing, I guess."

"Okay," Castle says gamely. "I come from an acting family, so I can do a creditable impression of an epileptic seizure," he declares, causing Fred to choke on her drink. "But next time, we do some kind of real dancing."

"Next time, huh?" Fred challenges. "You seem awfully confident. And what, exactly, counts as a 'real' dance?"

"Guess you'll have to stick around to find out," he answers glibly, prompting an eye roll that dampens his playful mood by reminding him of Beckett.

Noticing his curdled smile, Fred stands quickly and grabs Castle's hand, tugging him up out of his chair. "Come on, Rick," she encourages. "Take me dancing," she says slyly as she steps into his side and grasps his arm. "Let's settle up at the bar and let your guys see you taking me away. They want to look up to you, so we'll let them draw whatever conclusions they want from our departure. Boost your reputation a bit."

"Trust me, Fred," Castle says with a confident laugh, "There's not much I can do to affect my reputation these days. But if they're going to tease me anyway, I might as well have some fun."

* * *

"Detective Beckett, it's a pleasure to see you again," Mayor Weldon welcomes graciously, taking the hand-off from his secretary. Rather than return to sit behind the bulk of his desk, Weldon instead spins his two guest chairs to face each other before motioning for Beckett to take a seat. He's still lowering himself into the other guest chair when Beckett replies in kind.

"Thank you, Mayor Weldon," she says with equal grace. "I very much appreciate you making the time to see me."

"Nonsense," Weldon replies with a wave of his hand. "And regardless of your answer, please call me Bob," he prefaces. "But are we here today to talk about the mayor's office and the NYPD, or about our mutual friend?" he asks with a raised brow.

"Both, I think," Beckett replies, earning a smile. "Castle told me about the situation that led to his departure from the precinct, and I want to make sure I understand the situation and can take steps to pave the way for his return."

Weldon nods along with her explanation, looking impressed. "Certainly," he enthuses, "But first, I owe you an apology," Weldon says, to Beckett's surprise. "I know very, _very_ well what a pain in the ass my friend can be," he says with a laugh, "but he's also a hell of a guy – he's dependable, loyal, and his brain's even smarter than his mouth. And he's usually a lot of fun, too. I suspect I deprived your team of something useful when I asked him to leave."

"Thank you," Beckett replies, moved by the apology. She wonders, briefly, if she's being played by a politician, but dismisses the thought. This is Castle's friend, and she's going to extend some faith. "He's missed already and it's only been two weeks," she admits.

"Rick told you about DA Turner, then?" Bob asks, relaxing into his chair while Beckett nods. "Well, let's talk about how to get him back," Weldon suggests pragmatically. "Turner hasn't done anything yet. In fact, he hasn't even formally announced his interest, though that's coming soon, probably next week. I like to think that our little adjustment forced him to reconsider his timing."

Beckett nods again and jumps in. From his surprised look, the Mayor isn't used to having his agenda hijacked. "I was thinking about that," Beckett confesses. "The delay doesn't really help us, though, does it? Even if he doesn't attack you about your appointees when he announces his candidacy, he could still raise it as an issue if Castle came back, right? So this is really about all the time before the election, not just the next month or two."

"That's possible," Weldon admits, "though unlikely. Look, let's talk plainly," he says to dispense with some of the usual political posturing. "I'm the presumptive favorite. I'm the incumbent. I've got the backing of the party, the schools, and the union. This is New York City – he's not getting anywhere without those, so his candidacy can't last. What he's really doing is establishing his name now so that when I move on, he's in position to claim my place. Unless I screw up somehow in this campaign, in which case we're all screwed," he says with a shrug. "So, I don't think we're talking about all the way to the election," he says, noticing that Beckett doesn't look satisfied with his answer. "We might be able to accelerate Rick's return…"

"If we can show that he's an asset to the city?" Beckett interjects, prompting Weldon to look taken aback again. "I secured approval from my captain to pull all our cases since Castle started assisting. I've started building a file on Castle's performance at the precinct, something we can use to show how much he's helped. Would something like that be enough for Castle to come back even if Turner's still running?"

"Maybe," Weldon hedges as he thinks about the possibility. "It'd have to be a pretty compelling story. In fact, we might want to treat it like that," Weldon thinks aloud. "Maybe we could get his agent, what's-her-name…"

"Paula," Beckett supplies readily.

"Yeah, Paula," Weldon agrees. "If your data are good, maybe Paula could tempt one of the papers into doing a story about police consultants where Rick's performance is called out. We'd have to gauge the reaction to the story," he hedges again, "but it's a possibility…," he trails off, thinking.

Beckett's about to interject again when he speaks, smirking that he's grabbed the floor and getting an embarrassed grin in return. "What about the work Castle's done – has he ever testified or directly engaged with the DA's office?"

"No, not yet," Beckett says sadly. "Which is something I regret now. Before all this," she says with a wide gesture to take in the mayor's office, "we thought it best to minimize his appearances in the paperwork to avoid upsetting the DA's office. Fat lot of good that did," she trails off, annoyed anew by the circumstances.

Weldon's nodding in acknowledgement of the point when the door to his office opens and his secretary peeks through. "Sir, your 4:00 is here."

"Just a few minutes," Weldon says. His secretary nods and departs, closing the door behind her. Beckett's moving to stand when Weldon holds out a hand to encourage her to remain in place. "He can wait," he explains, "this is important."

Beckett, feeling a wave of affection for the mayor, decides that he's earned her vote on his own terms, where she'd previously just voted for him on Castle's recommendation.

"Two things," he says. "I've got an intern from NYU. Hannah Simmons. She's great at analytics and efficient, too – I can't keep her busy. Give her three weeks and she'll build a multi-media presentation that would sing his praises so loudly that even Rick would be embarrassed. I'll get her contact information to you and ask her to help compile and summarize Rick's case information."

"That would be great," Beckett says, surprised by this offer.

"Hold on, that's just the good news," Weldon replies, looking pensive.

"So, your second point is bad news?" Beckett asks, wondering where this is going.

"Maybe," Weldon replies. "Rick's been a little… off… recently. I told him that I'm going to assume it's the fallout from the bomb and his sudden removal from your team, but I'm not sure that's what's really bothering him," she says while fixing Beckett with a penetrating stare.

"It's been a rough month," Beckett mumbles, prompting a slow nod from Weldon.

"Whatever the cause," he says, "Rick's made some unusual choices lately. You know that he's got a side project now, right?"

"I know he set something up to keep himself busy, to… explore a new character," she stumbles. "He asked me not to look into what he's up to, and I felt like I had to agree."

"You'll know soon enough," Weldon sighs. "I love my friend, but I don't think he knows how to keep a low profile. Or stay out of trouble. So, we'll probably hear from him soon," he says with a huff. "I know he promised to stay in his new arrangement for three months," he says, causing Beckett to sigh sadly in confirmation of Castle's side project, "but the sooner we get him back where he belongs, the better."

* * *

A/N: Posting a little early in case anyone wants to give this a look while traveling this weekend. Happy Memorial Day Weekend to those of you in the US. I'm hoping to get some writing done this weekend, which would mean the next update would be on Tuesday, but Week Three will be up by Friday at the latest.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional.

* * *

 **Week Three**

"So, does this count as 'real dancing'?" Fred asks, demurely blotting her forehead with a handkerchief, her dazzling smile distracting anyone from noticing her perspiration.

"I think so," Castle says with a laugh, panting a bit himself, "we'd better try again after a break, just to make sure."

"Seriously, where'd you learn how to dance like this?" she asks as he escorts her to their table.

"Mother," he says with a smile. "She's an actress. I was raised by a rotating cast of occasionally sober friends and associates, most of whom were actors, singers, or dancers. I learned more than you can imagine in dimly lit backstages," he offers with an eyebrow waggle.

"I just bet you did," Fred answers with a laugh. "Is your mom a dancer, too?"

"She thinks she is," Castle answers with a wicked smile as he holds a chair out for her, "and it's easier for the rest of us to let her maintain the illusion. It keeps the peace at home, at least until she threatens to blow the speakers with her showtunes."

"You live with your mom?" Fred asks with another laugh. "I can't believe that wasn't one of your lines when you were trying to pick me up, considering everything else you mentioned."

"Hey, I'm the one who's supposed to have the wild imagination," he rebuts as he sits down across from her at their tiny table. "First, we both know I didn't try to pick you up – no way I'm going to hurt my batting average by swinging at an unhittable pitch," he says importantly, prompting Fred to roll her eyes and shake her head. "Second, mother lives with me, not the reverse. A subtle reordering of words, but it makes all the difference in the world."

"Oh, what a nice boy you are," Fred laughs again, reaching across the table to pat his cheek while speaking like an old, approving grandmother. "So, it's the three of you, then – you and your ladies?"

"Yep," Castle beams proudly. "Rick and the redheads. It's not a conventional arrangement, but it works for us. Alexis raises me and Mother keeps my ego in check – they're quite the team. You'll see what I mean."

"Meet the family? What, are we getting serious or something?" she asks with a teasing look.

"Please," Castle huffs, "I am * _so_ * out of your league," he explains to her bark of a laugh. "Now, I'm going to go get us some drinks to allow your suitors a clear field. Happy hunting," he says with a small salute, leaving her looking exasperated and just a little uncomfortable.

Castle takes his time, having been serious about leaving her alone for a bit. Fred's an incredible beauty and he didn't miss the admiring glances she received from several people in the club, including some in whom she might actually have an interest. So, a quick trip to the restroom, a call home to check on Alexis, and a couple online checks precede his trip to the bar. By the time he returns to her side, more than twenty minutes have passed.

"Any luck?" he asks in a cheerful voice, presenting both a drink and a bottle of water.

"You know it's too early," she objects quietly. "Besides, it was mostly guys who came over. Where were you when I needed you?" she asks with a poke.

"Easy, there," Castle pushes back. "My throng of admirers was even larger than usual, it took me forever to get through them so I could get back to you."

Fred rolls her eyes at his ridiculousness, and this time he barely flinches.

"Speaking of admirers," she retorts slowly and Castle tenses up, not ready for the conversation he thinks she's introducing, "I've got some questions for you."

"I'm not ready yet, Fred," he answers quickly and quietly, trying to forestall a question about his own romantic opportunities.

Shaking her head, Fred gives him a look of exasperation. "I'm not pushing you there. _Yet_ ," she adds when she sees him looking too thankful. "But if I'm being nice to you there, I get to give you trouble about everything else. _So_ ," she says with a penetrating look, "what the hell was going on when I picked you up from work this evening?"

"What do you mean?" Castle asks in confusion, thinking back.

"I'm talking about bad poetry!" she teases him, swatting his shoulder. "Seriously, every guy I saw tried to compare me to something arboreal or expound on the virtues of my beauty. Actually," she corrects, "every _person_ I saw had a go. Even Carla!"

"What's wrong with that? You are a beauty," he asks in lingering confusion, though he's now got an idea about what's going on.

"Depends on where their eyes lingered before they started talking," she says primly. "This is your doing, isn't it?" she accuses with a knowing look, leaving Castle wondering how his new friend has already figured out some of his mischievous ways. "You told them you wooed me with poetry, didn't you, that night we met? So now they're all trying to hone literary pickup techniques?"

"Maybe?" Castle answers with a flinch, comically awaiting another whack. Instead, she levels a look that makes clear her desire for a more fulsome explanation. "It's like we talked about the first night – the people at work aren't big readers, which just strikes me as something sad. So, I took an opportunity to give them an incentive to become a little better-read."

"Romance novels and sappy poetry, though?" Fred asks in exasperation. "You might be helping them, but you're doing a serious disservice to the women of the city!"

"Perhaps," Castle replies with a laugh, "though however bad their pickup lines, I'm sure they'd be no better without my influence. Besides, a few have actually asked for real reading recommendations."

"So, they're reading instead of spending all their spare in the gym?" she asks, casting him an indulgent look.

"No," he laughs, "we still spend our idle time lifting heavy pieces of metal. They aren't fools – they know six-pack abs will win them far more attention than knowing Wordsworth, Neruda, Whitman, or Rilke, at least the kind of attention in which they're currently most interested."

"Such a writer," Fred laughs while shaking her head, though Castle's not sure if her comment is in reference to his impromptu literature lessons or the phrasing of his response. "So, do I know anything you've written?"

"Perhaps," he allows, chuckling to himself at imagining his friend's reactions to his demure response to Fred's question. "I could give you a title, but then you'd be able to look me up…"

"No, no, no," she answers happily. "I'm still enjoying the mystery – we'll get to your details later. I just wondered if you've written enough that I might've seen something of yours."

"Know anyone who's died recently?" he asks while taking a sip of his drink, finally earning the swat he'd expected earlier. It's an old joke already, his first answer to her question about what kind of things he wrote, back on the evening they met. She'd nodded, saying that it made his new job a more obvious choice. He hadn't shared that comment with Alexis.

"Keep recycling that joke and the actual obituary writer will have one more to do," she says grimly, then laughs when she can't manage to keep a straight face. "So, backing up a little, how are your efforts going? Is there a six-pack under there?" she asks, brazenly poking at his midsection.

"I'm somewhere between a keg and a six-pack," Castle admits with a laugh. "Getting there, though. Those bastards push me hard. That's the other reason we're talking literature – if they can beat me into shape on one front, I can return the favor on another."

"Seems like a bit of a waste," Fred leads, pulling Castle's attention away from the dancers he was watching. "When do you think you'll be ready to let some lovely lady inspect the results of your efforts? Not pushing," she says quickly with palms raised, "just wondering about timeframes."

"Fred…," Castle trails off, leaning back in his chair and running a hand through his hair. "I don't really know. I wish I could tell you that I'm done, that I'm content to live my life as a hermit. But even I know that won't work – I just enjoy people too much. I meet them, I learn their stories, and I start making up my own for them. And then before I know it, I've fallen in love with the story." He stops and pauses for a moment, as if he's surprised to have tripped over an unrecognized truth. "But then the story doesn't match the reality, and I'm cast adrift again," he says in dawning realization.

Fred gives him a compassionate look, recognizing that he's wrestling with something. To provide a small bit of comfort, she reaches out and places her hand on his, just to remind him that he's not alone.

"It'll happen again," he says quietly in a voice of acceptance. "It's who I am, probably part of being a writer. And if that's what it takes for me to write, I'll accept it," he says with a small smile and a shrug. "But I'm not going to rush into it. I'm not writing much right now, mostly just taking notes for later. So, we'll let it ride until I get pulled back in."

After a few minutes of listening to the music and watching the other dancers, Castle taps on her hand to signal the end of his introspection. "So, anyone to keep an eye on for you while we're here?" he asks, taking a deep draught of his own water and wondering if dancing together again will help or hurt her chances.

" _Shaka, when the walls fell_ ," Fred sighs, though her attention is immediately captured when Castle's bottle lands on the table.

"Did you just speak _Tamarian_?" he asks, flabbergasted.

"Maybe," she allows with a shy smile.

"That is _easily_ the coolest thing I've heard this week," he enthuses, his boyish delight radiating from him and prompting a laugh from Fred.

"Seeing as it's Tuesday, that's not terribly impressive," she teases back.

"Then I guess we should try it again at the end of the week," he suggests with a cocked brow.

Shaking her head, Fred laughs again. "Is this a thing of yours, where you just keep setting me up for our next outing?"

"Absolutely," he agrees mirthfully.

"Okay, but it's back to my pick," she says in delight. "You have boots?" she asks with a wicked smile. "Western boots, not those things you wear on your new toy. You're gonna need 'em."

"I've got something that'll work," he admits, looking intrigued. "We goin' to a hoe-down? Line dancing? Ooh! _Mechanical bull riding_?!" he asks excitedly.

"Boot-scootin'," she answers with a smile, deciding that she'll watch his reaction when he sees the bull rather than confirm his guess now. "Time for a little honkey-tonkin'. You ever been?"

"Not since…," he starts, then trails off. If she doesn't want clues about who he is, he can't tell her about his little escapade on his _Storm_ tour through the South. He's still not sure whether he's allowed back into Alabama, so that story's probably easy to find. But seriously, how was he supposed to know that his dance partner was dating a backwoods behemoth? And isn't "Gimme three steps" _exactly_ the right request when faced with a confrontation like that?

"Not since I was younger," he amends, blushing.

"So, a long time ago, then," Fred asks with a smile, getting rolled eyes in return.

"Come on, come dance with me. It'll be fun," he tempts as he extends a hand to her and helps her rise from her seat. "And maybe it'll keep you quiet."

"Doubtful," she pretends to grump as she stands. "I've got dibs on any blondes. Or brunettes."

"Leaving me the redheads?" Castle asks incredulously as he leads her to the dance floor. "'Cause that's worked out so well for me in the past."

"Worse than blondes or brunettes?" she asks with a cocked brow.

"You really know how to cheer a guy up," Castle grouses as Fred laughs and spins him into place.

* * *

"Thank you, detectives," Montgomery says as he closes the file. "I don't have any more questions. This was a nice close, especially considering the recent changes to your team."

His comment earns some nods and a shrug, but no one chooses to answer. They're starting to rise when the desk phone chimes with the ring of an internal number. Checking the screen, Montgomery heaves a sigh. "Mendoza," he grumbles. "I ha… don't like this guy."

Beckett chuckles to herself. It's nice to know, she thinks in a self-defeating kind of way, that regardless of how high you climb the career ladder, you never quite break free of annoyances and irritations.

Nodding to his detectives to signal the end of their meeting, Montgomery lifts the handset. "Hey, Mateo, what can I do for you?" Beckett pauses in her departure when she sees Montgomery knit his brows and make a hand gesture pointing down, guiding his detectives back into their seats. "Yeah, I still talk to Castle. Look, I've got his team in my office. Should I put you on speaker?"

" _His team_?" comes the crackly voice through the speaker phone on Montgomery's desk. " _I thought he finally got fed up and walked_?"

"He had to take a break," Montgomery says gently, not sure if his caller knows the circumstances of Castle's departure. "We expect him back in a few months."

" _Bullshit_ ," the voice on the phone chuffs out in disagreement. " _I looked at, like,_ all _your case files and it looks to me like he was never there. You guys_ never _talk about him in the reports_."

"Well," Montgomery explains with a moue of distaste, "he's a consultant. The DA's office prefers that the main people involved in our reports be sworn officers. But if you have any questions," he says quickly, lest his caller take command of the conversation again, "why not ask his team? Homicide Detectives Beckett, Esposito, and Ryan, this is Mateo Mendoza, Captain of the 28th."

" _Homicide_ ," Mendoza laughs. " _Like you have homicides over in your little fairyland_ ," Mendoza laughs. " _I got race riots, arsons, OC, homicides – where we only get pieces, not bodies – and if I want my requisitions filled, I gotta go to the local gangs. Whadda you got? Some jaywalking tourists and I-bankers who kill their cheating mistresses_?"

"Well, Teo, if our precinct dealt with as much crime as yours does," he says while rolling his eyes for his detectives' benefit, "then we'd have to work more than 20 hours a week. That'd make it hard to get tee times and spa appointments."

" _Ha! I_ knew _it. Pussies_ ," Mendoza gloats, sounding for all the world like he's just secured a confession in interrogation.

Watching his detectives exchange wide-eyed looks, Montgomery is torn. As a general rule, the less time spent with Mendoza, the better. But maybe it's not all bad to let them see that their lot at the Twelfth, at least as far as the humanity of their captain goes, isn't all bad. The thought provokes a small smile, but he decides he's being petty and opts to move things along.

"Teo, is there a reason you asked about Castle?" he asks, focusing the conversation.

" _Yeah_ ," Mendoza replies, sounding a little uncomfortable. _Uh oh_ , Montgomery thinks – Mendoza is one of those guys who doesn't apologize for his behavior, despite the frighteningly frequent need to do so. If he's uncomfortable, then something bad happened. Involving Castle.

" _Yeah_ …," Mendoza trails off again. " _Look, I'm not gonna press charges. Will you make sure he doesn't file a complaint_?"

Beckett looks alarmed, but the boys are intrigued, trading surprised looks. Then Esposito cocks an eyebrow at his partner, who sighs in response. Reaching for his wallet, Ryan mumbles while pulling out a twenty and slapping it into a gloating Esposito's palm. Apparently, there was at least one person on the team who expected Castle to get himself into trouble after his departure from the Twelfth.

With his elbow on the desk and his forehead on his palm, Montgomery heaves a huge sigh. "Teo, what the hell happened? Castle was a big help around here. He's gone for a few minutes and you guys mess with him?"

" _Just one guy – Halsey_ ," Mendoza says in a low voice. He might've been quiet, but everyone in Montgomery's office reacts, having either had the misfortune to meet or hear the stories about Detective Pete Halsey. He's known around the Department as "Palsy," mostly because he tried to nickname himself "the Admiral," although his occasional trembles mean that suspected chemical enhancement might've prompted the name, too. There isn't a problem that can't be solved by brute force, according to Palsy.

"Dammit, Teo, how's Halsey still got a job after all the shit he's pulled?" Montgomery asks in disbelief, worrying about where this story's going.

" _Come talk to me when Ethan Slaughter's gone_ ," Mendoza growls, as Montgomery nods at the point.

"So, what does Halsey say happened with Castle?" Montgomery asks. "From my recollection, the Internal Review Board has had a few things to say about his ability to recall facts accurately."

" _Halsey can't really say anything for another three-to-six weeks_ ," Mendoza chuffs out, " _and writing ain't really his thing. We got a witness statement, though_."

"Teo, we've got precincts to run – stop dragging this out," Montgomery pushes, wanting to get this over with. "What happened?"

" _Palsy was off duty, talking shit in some bar_ ," Mendoza explains, slipping in his reference to Halsey. " _He had a go at a group of guys and one of them talks back_." At this, Beckett closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose, suspecting what's coming. " _Well, Palsy, he don't like that too much. Turns out he's not 'specially gifted at playing with words and he usually hits what he don't understand. So, this guy starts giving him shit, and Palsy loses his cool. Reaches out, grabs the guy, and pulls him over the table. Drinks get tossed, glass goes flying everywhere, people stand up. Still, sounds like it almost ended okay. Until your boy said something that really set Palsy off_."

"I can imagine," Montgomery mumbles, getting uncomfortable nods from the detectives in his office.

" _So, Palsy gives him a body shot, no big deal_ ," he says, trying to make this sound like a non-event." _They scuffle a bit. Turns out your boy can take a pounding. He's also got a thick head_ ," Mendoza continues while Esposito earns himself cross looks from Montgomery and Beckett for his quick agreement. " _Thicker than Palsy's nose, anyway. So, they trade shots until Palsy goes down_."

"Castle put Palsy down?" Esposito asks in surprise before Montgomery can say anything. "He's damn lucky Palsy didn't pull his piece."

There's a mumble on the other end of the line that immediately catches Montgomery's attention. "What was that, Teo?"

" _I said_ ," Mendoza replies, sounding like a child caught misbehaving, " _he did_."

"Am I to understand," Montgomery flares up, suddenly sounding as authoritative and officious as an NYPD captain can, "that your detective started a fight with an unarmed civilian, then _pulled his weapon_? And you want me to get Castle to keep this quiet?"

" _Nothin' happened_ ," Mendoza answers, reaching for some gravitas himself. " _The weapon came out and that's when your boy's friends got involved. Ol' Palsy found himself surrounded by a group of rough, pissed-off lookin' dudes. He put the piece away, they 'gently' escorted him out of the premises and into the dumpster. They went back to drinking and he went to the clinic. No harm, no foul_." When silence fills the air that Mendoza had hoped would instead produce words of agreement, he tries one more tactic. " _Your boy's a hero to his friends and Mendoza's jaw's wired shut for 'bout a month. Everything's good, right_?"

"Media?" Montgomery asks, worried about the implications of this confrontation.

" _Nah_ ," Mendoza replies nonchalantly. " _It was a slow night and fights ain't exactly unusual there. No one even traded names, but the bartender recognized Castle from some meeting they went to about liquor licensing requirements. He's the one who called me on this – 's always good to have a bartender as a CI_ ," he explains, and every officer in Montgomery's office suspects that Mendoza turns a blind eye to the bar in return for the informant's efforts. " _He told me Castle was involved – to everyone else he just seemed like the smart-ass of his group_."

"Teo, give me a minute," Montgomery says as he presses the mute button on his phone and turns to his detectives. "As much as this pisses me off, I think we need to let this slide."

"Sir?" Beckett asks in surprise. "We can't let this go. Castle might not be a cop but he's still one of the Twelfth. You know what'll happen if we back down from this," she says, though Montgomery suspects she has other motivations for her outburst. Esposito's nodding vigorously about the slight on the Twelfth, while Ryan looks on curiously to see how his captain will respond.

"We'll handle that a different way, out of the public eye," Montgomery allows, unwilling to officially sanction any bad blood between his detectives and Palsy or the 28th while privately happy that they're banding together. "But think about this – what d'you think the DA would do if he heard about a fight between Castle and a member of the NYPD? How easy would it be for Castle to come back after that?"

"Assuming he wants to come back," Beckett wonders, missing the surprised look from her teammates.

"Teo," Montgomery says after unmuting his phone. "I'll talk with Castle. You owe me for this."

" _Yeah, yeah_ ," Mendoza replies breezily. " _Put in a good word for us, eh? You guys might not want him, but I'll take all the help I can get over here_."

"What?" Montgomery asks in confusion, articulating the surprise he sees from others in the room. "No way."

" _You kiddin'_?" Mendoza replies. " _I got the union riding my ass, sick-outs from my uniforms, and civil rights suits all over the fuckin' place. You lose a guy who's buddies with the mayor, willing to work for free, and isn't above a little brawling? Shit, I ain't proud, I'll take your leftovers_."

"Castle needed to step away due to a political situation," Montgomery responds delicately, annoyed by Mendoza's brazen attempt to appropriate an asset from the Twelfth.

" _Who the fuck cares about politics_?" Mendoza answers roughly. " _They're all liars and they'll be gone soon enough anyway. Besides, any politician wants to try to run my precinct, he's welcome to it_."

" _You_ might not put much thought into political considerations," Montgomery responds, wondering again how this joker managed to rise to the level of captain with his disdain for authority, "but Castle does. He stepped away by request and won't return to the NYPD until it's appropriate to do so."

" _Whatever_ ," Mendoza replies, clearly uninterested in pursuing a discussion where it's obvious they'll continue to disagree. " _Even if he doesn't have the balls to come back now, he'll remember who wanted him_."

"Especially with such a pleasant expression of your interest," Montgomery notes acerbically, winning only a hearty laugh from Mendoza.

" _Whatever_ ," the captain of the 28th repeats again with another laugh. " _I'll ask him myself. But after you get him to ignore his little run-in with Halsey. Thanks for that, Roy_!" he says quickly before disconnecting the call.

"Jackass," Montgomery mutters as he lifts and replaces the handset to ensure that the line is disconnected. Taking a deep breath to calm his nerves, he looks back at his assembled detectives. "Well, there's a little insight into the glamor of the lives of NYPD captains," he says with a huff. "Better get outta here before your peek behind the curtain shows me breaking something or taking up smoking again. Back to work, detectives."

All three of them, especially Beckett, linger in their effort to depart, hoping to hear at least the beginning of Montgomery's call to Castle. But it looks like the captain is going to wait, either to make Mendoza twist for a bit or to give himself the chance to calm down. Probably both.

* * *

"No way, dude," Esposito objects, appalled by his partner's poor taste. "Ashley Judd is totally the hottest college basketball fan," he restates his unassailable position. "No one else's even in her league. _That's_ why the camera always shows her in the stands, and that's who I'll be watching for during the games this weekend."

"But she's got that germ thing," Ryan retorts with a scrunched nose. "Unless hand sanitizer and handi-wipes are part of the appeal?"

"Some ladies," Esposito fires back, "are worth cleaning up for."

Dropping her pen on the desk, Beckett enters the fray, though she suspects she'll regret it. "Really, Espo? Is that a line you use? ' _Hey baby, I'd take a shower for you._ ' Way to keep it classy."

"Any pickup line that involves showers can only go well," he replies with a shrug, looking smug until Ryan's wadded up ball of paper rebounds off his forehead. Esposito moves to retrieve the projectile, but freezes as soon as he's standing. "Check it out," he says in a low tone. "That's gotta be Castle, right?"

Ryan and Beckett swivel their heads to check out Montgomery's office. Through the glass, they can see the captain laughing, so wound up that he's wiping an eye with the hand not holding the phone to his ear.

"Gotta be," Ryan agrees. "He's talking about making someone else's life difficult. If that happened here," he speculates, "Montgomery would be scowling. Or crying."

"Look at him," Esposito marvels. The Captain's now standing, holding the phone to his ear with a shoulder while making boxing motions with his hands. "They must be talking about the fight."

As they watch, something he hears makes Montgomery laugh again. His mirthful motions dislodge the phone, which tumbles from his shoulder toward the floor. Still chuckling, he grabs the cord and reels in the handset, taking his seat again.

"Must've been quite a fight," Ryan says with a small smile on his face.

"Nah, Castle's prob'ly just making it all up. He was always good with stories," Esposito fires back. "Right, Beckett?"

"Almost, Espo," she answers without turning her head to him, instead watching a chuckling Montgomery end his call, wiping his eyes again. "No past tense. He _is_ always good with stories."

Now that the call is over, the detectives turn back to their paperwork before Montgomery catches them watching. They think they've gotten away with it until the Captain's voice rings through the bullpen. "Beckett?"

Looking up, she see Montgomery motion her into his office with a tilt of his head. He doesn't wait for her, so he's already seated behind his desk by the time she enters his office. With a look and a small nod, he asks her to shut the door.

"So," Montgomery asks, "how's your project coming along?"

"My Castle project?" Beckett asks to make sure they're talking about the same thing. "Pretty well. The mayor's help has sped things along. Hannah's amazing – almost as sharp as Alexis."

"But?" the captain asks, having read something in Beckett's demeanor that suggests a problem.

"But it's not really my nature," Beckett confesses, "just to play defense."

"Ahhhh," Montgomery replies, nodding as he considers her answer. He should've anticipated this reaction, he realizes. His detectives are not shy. They do not wait for the answers, or the perps, to come to them. Of course Beckett is feeling stifled.

"Let's have a drink," Montgomery offers while reaching into his desk drawer for his bottle of Beau James, shocking Beckett. "If we're going to scheme and plot, we might as well do it right," he offers with a small, wicked smile.

Having poured the drinks, he holds his glass above his desk, high enough to make a toast but not high enough to catch too much attention from the bullpen.

"To Castle, who can cause chaos even by his absence," Montgomery says with a smile. "And who did us all a favor by punching Palsy in the face."

"Cheers," Beckett replies with a smile of her own, downing the drink after tapping glasses with her captain. "So, Castle's okay then?"

"He's fine," Montgomery laughs. "It sounds like it was quite the evening," he marvels with a shake of his head. "He doesn't remember much of what happened after the fight – his friends we so impressed with him that they drank quite a bit, though after moving to a different bar."

"These friends," Beckett wonders aloud, "are they okay?" She seems to struggle for a moment, trying to decide about whether to speak her larger concern. A look from Montgomery provides all the encouragement she needs. "Did they buy him a drink because he won a fight, or because he decked a cop?"

Montgomery scrunches his mouth and thinks for a moment. "So, you don't know what he's up to, then? He's fine. They're fine. They're just not big fans of the police."

"Thanks," Beckett says sarcastically. "That totally puts my mind at ease."

"He'll be fine," Montgomery replies, ignoring the barb because he recognizes the source of her discomfort. "But, no more of that from me – the mayor asked me to keep quiet about this, and I suspect Castle asked the same of you."

Beckett nods but still looks uncomfortable.

"He'll be fine," Montgomery repeats himself again. "He sure as hell took care of himself last night!" he laughs. When Beckett continues to look uncomfortable, he tries a different approach. "Look. If Castle's going to come back to the NYPD – and I think he can, regardless of what he's doing now – then I'd prefer it be here, Beckett," Montgomery says as his glass returns to the desktop. "You okay with that?"

Nodding, Beckett agrees. "That's why I'm working on my project."

"Good, good," he answers, letting his eyes drift a bit. For a small moment, Beckett wonders if he's a lightweight, if his one drink has rendered him hazy. But when his eyes return to her, they are clear, focused, and hard.

"Offense," he says to her is a clear, commanding voice. "What did you have in mind?"

"Looking into DA Turner," Beckett answers readily. "If his candidacy goes down, then there's no reason Castle can't come back," she says, hoping Montgomery can't see through her to identify any other motivation. "I know it's not appropriate for me to investigate the DA, and there are probably hundreds of media people doing the same thing…"

"But none of them are you," Montgomery says with an affirming nod. "And I'd bet on you any day, over all of them combined. But," he draws out, "I think you should expand the scope of your inquiries."

"Sir?" Beckett asks, brows knit as she considers his suggestion. "You mean not just Turner, but his office?"

"I am _certain_ ," the Captain answers with an odd air of resignation, "that there is a history of corruption at the DA's office. Start looking into Turner and you might be surprised by what else you find."

* * *

"Cheers," Lanie says as she clinks glasses with Beckett, licking her lips in appreciation of the fresh-squeezed orange juice and crisp champagne. Ensconced in a posh table at _Stephanie's_ , the ladies are dressed up, taking a rare opportunity to treat themselves to a fancy brunch.

"Now _this_ is the way to live," Lanie enthuses, looking around again in delight. "A girl could get used to this kind of thing."

"As long as a girl could get used to poverty, too," Beckett answers with a laugh. "Still, this makes for a nice treat."

"You're talking about the company, right, not the restaurant?" Lanie teases from behind her menu.

"Absolutely," Beckett agrees with a smile, placing her menu on the table.

"You pick that up right now, Kate Beckett," Lanie says in mock annoyance. "You always do that – you know what you want within ten seconds. It's too much pressure!" Lanie whispers. "I haven't even read half the menu yet. Pick that back up and keep me company."

Beckett laughs but does as her friend requests, picking the menu up again. Just for kicks, she decides to read all of the options, since she stopped when her eyes alit on a favorite. A few minutes later, Lanie gives a happy sigh, closes her menu, and sets it gently on the table.

"Is it safe to lower my menu now?" Beckett asks with a perched brow.

"I suppose," Lanie allows, "though perhaps I should have you hold onto it as a visual aide."

Beckett's about to ask for an explanation when their waitress arrives, making the discussion moot as she collects the menus before floating away with their orders.

"Sorry, Lanie, no visual aide," Beckett laments, showing empty palms instead. "I guess we'll have to make do with just our conversational skills."

"Good thing we're not men," her friend replies, and they share a private laugh.

"True," Beckett admits before looking around. "I was going to joke about there being no TVs or sports-talk radio stations here, but it's no joke. Look around – there are so few men, and they don't look especially happy to be here."

Beckett's not wrong, Lanie realizes quickly. There might be twenty tables in this atrium, with men at four or five. And most of the gentlemen look glum, as if they were crammed into fancy clothes and told to mind their manners when they'd much rather be out playing or getting ready for another day of watching the college basketball tournament.

"Seems like Castle'd be okay here, though," Lanie says leadingly. "I can easily imagine him at a table with his redheads, telling jokes and flirting with the wait staff."

"You're probably right," Beckett admits, surprised at how easy it is to imagine the scene. "It's funny – in some ways he's such a guy. But in others, he doesn't seem to care about guy stuff."

"Like basketball?" Lanie asks in annoyance. "I swear, I dread March. Javi won't shut up about his stupid bracket. It drives me crazy!" she complains. "Is he like that at the precinct, too?"

"Nope," Beckett says happily, raising her glass. "Here's the trick: submit a bracket in the office pool. Then, when he mentions it, just tell him that you based your picks on jersey colors, mascots, or hottest coach. He'll be so appalled, especially if you beat him, that he won't mention it again."

Lanie's smiling wide, appreciating the advice. " _Perfect_ ," she says with satisfaction. "Remind me of this next year. We'll have a little Selection Sunday of our own, ranking coach booties. Maybe I'll invite Javi, too," she says with a cackle.

"Cheers!" Beckett offers in return, and the ladies clink glasses again before Lanie signals the waitress for refills.

"Is this Josh's kind of place?" Lanie asks, returning to their earlier topic with wide-eyed innocence.

"Subtle, Lanie," Beckett says with an eye roll. "No, it's not really a place where I could see him being comfortable. Though I'm not sure where he'd be comfortable anymore."

"Well, _that_ sounds like something we should talk about," Lanie says, diving in. "What does that mean?"

"It means," Beckett says with some resignation, "that aside from his seat on the plane and a far-away clinic, I'm not sure where he's comfortable."

"Wait," her friend commands with hand lifted and palm facing Beckett. "Are you telling me he's back at his clinic in wherever?"

"He's in the air now," Beckett nods, taking another drink.

Lanie looks confused, uncertain if she should be more surprised by this news or Beckett's apparent nonchalance. "I thought he was sticking around for a while. What's going on?"

With a sigh, Beckett's about to explain when their meals arrive. Waiting politely during the tabling of the food, the ladies make pleasant conversation with their server. Once they're alone again, Beckett pops a beignet in her mouth for fortification and returns to their topic.

"He had an opportunity to go back, and with the way things are between us, it didn't make sense to stay."

"What the hell does that mean?" Lanie asks in confusion. "Are you two together or not?"

"Not really," Beckett offers with a mirthless laugh. "We're technically on a break now, using this trip as a chance to think about where we're going. We'll talk when he comes back."

"Which is…" Lanie leads with a circular hand-motion.

"In four to six weeks," Beckett replies, still sounding surprisingly unaffected.

"So you're just on hold?" Lanie asks, incredulous. "What are you – three year olds in time-out? You're either dating or you're not."

Beckett reaction makes her friend blush. "It was my idea, actually. And I think it's a good one, given how things have gone lately. I kind of wonder if taking a moment to think a few months ago wouldn't have done me some good, wouldn't have helped me make the right choice," she replies, hiding her face by attending to her meal. Her friend doesn't miss the non-verbal indication of some distress.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Lanie asks, surprising Beckett with a request, rather than a demand. Giving her friend a nod, takes another few bites while waiting for a question.

"I take it things haven't gone well since we last talked about this?" Lanie probes, wondering if Beckett's willingness to talk about this will evaporate if she pushes too hard.

"Not really," Beckett admits. "I might not've handled things exactly right," she prefaces with a sad, self-conscious grin. "But I decided Castle was right – I needed to try to talk to Josh about something real. So, I told him what happened to mom."

"Oh," Lanie replies, surprised that Beckett actually introduced her most personal topic. "How did that go?"

"Terribly," Beckett says with another mirthless laugh. "It started okay. I thought he might be angry that I hadn't told him about something so important to me, but he seemed okay with it."

"That's good," Lanie says cautiously.

"Yeah, that's what I thought, too," she confesses. "But then I started talking about how I transferred back from Stanford and he just got this weird look. He started talking calmly to me, telling me that people deal with grief differently and that there's no timetable for recovery."

"Oh, shit," Lanie moans, knowing as a doctor exactly what's wrong. "Did he forget you're his girlfriend, not his patient?"

"It was worse than that," Beckett says quietly, using her fork to push food around her plate. "Not only was it a speech he's probably given a hundred times, but I could tell he didn't believe it. He's sitting there telling me there's no timetable, but I could tell he was thinking that this happened when I was in college and I should be over it."

"Kate, maybe that's not all bad," Lanie tries to offer compassionately. "He's a doctor – you can't be surprised if he falls back on what he knows, especially if you surprise him. It still sounds like he tried to understand, even if he was a little clumsy. It's not like Castle, charging in and forcing details out of you."

"Castle didn't force anything out of me," Beckett answers, missing Lanie's look of doubt. "He actually figured out what happened to me on his own. And as uncomfortable as it was back then with Castle, I think it hurt worse that someone who I thought knew me was so clueless about the situation and dismissive when I told him."

"You sure Josh was dismissive?" Lanie asks, not sure why she finds herself defending Josh. "It sounds like he was cautious. That's hardly how Castle handled it."

"I was furious with Castle because he poked into my private life and I was worried that he'd try to use the story for his book," Beckett replies, grasping to frame this the right way. "But two things saved him. He apologized," she says, watching Lanie nod, "and he never made me feel less because of it. In fact," she says, sounding reflective again, "he seemed to think it made me more – stronger, more focused."

Lanie nods, thinking back to that tense time and what Beckett told her back then. "That was later, though, right?" Lanie notes. "So, what'd Josh do later? From the way you're talking, it doesn't sound like he recovered very well."

"Right again," Beckett says with a forlorn smile. "We both knew the conversation hadn't gone very well. It just kind of sat there like a sore. So, I poked at it," she says with a shrug. "I brought it up a couple times over the week, but we never really discussed it for real. Until Thursday."

Meal forgotten, Lanie's focused on her friend, listening to her describe the slow implosion of her relationship. "A big fight, I guess?"

"No," Beckett disagrees, shaking her head. "A quiet fight."

Lanie nods sadly. She knows those fights – the ones that are all the more terrible for their lack of shouting to distract from the hard truths that might otherwise be tempered or overlooked.

"Let's just say that I've never thought of myself as ' _needy_ ' or ' _clingy,_ '" she says to Lanie's incredulous look. "And I didn't react especially well to being characterized as such. It went downhill from there."

"Over a cliff, more like," Lanie supposes, causing quirked lips from her friend. "How'd it end?"

"You mean who got the last word?" Beckett asks shrewdly. "I thought I did. I was so heartbroken, Lanes. Every exchange just sent us farther apart, made us wonder what we were doing together. What we were giving up to be together. He said he missed his travel," she says quietly. "It was the most honest thing he'd said, so I responded in kind," she confesses in a low voice, looking at her friend. "I said ' _I miss Castle_.'"

"Oh, Kate," Lanie says sadly. "And that wasn't enough to end the conversation?"

"No," Beckett replies. "The conversation ended when he said ' _So do I_.'"

The ladies sit quietly, Lanie in shock and Beckett in contemplation. Their waitress stops by, clearing away the remnants of their dishes and dropping off desert menus. Beckett tries to waive off the idea of dessert, which Lanie immediately shuts down, noting that the conversation _certainly_ justifies some indulgence. After making small talk until their coffees are refilled, Lanie restarts the conversation.

"I don't understand," she mentions gently, "the time-out thing. It doesn't sound to me like there's much left to your relationship."

"I think you're right," Beckett agrees. "And I think he does, too. I don't doubt that he went into the hospital and arranged the trip he's on now. We'll talk when he gets back, but I don't think there's much point."

"So why not just make a clean break?" Lanie asks in confusion. "Why draw this out?"

"I need some time, Lanie," Beckett tries to explain. "I need some time to just think things through. With Josh gone, I can just think, like I did that weekend after the bomb. I need to make some decisions, actually pursue what I want rather than fall into it or hide from difficult choices. Being on hold gives me some cover for a month while I figure things out."

"Exactly," Lanie answers in satisfaction, catching Beckett by surprise with her abrupt reversal.

"What do you mean?" Beckett asks, trying to figure out how Lanie somehow lapped her in the conversation.

Her friend laughs, then holds up the dessert menu. "Visual aide, remember?" she laughs. "I was going to start this conversation by asking how you can be so decisive in other aspects of your life," she says while comically stabbing her finger at the menu as if she were Beckett honing in instantly on her selection, "when you seem to drift in your personal life. Maybe it's time to get a man menu," she cackles, enjoying the thought. " _Then_ you'll know what to do. Or maybe who to do," she says lasciviously, getting an eye roll in return. "I'd like a number six, please, extra shoulders and hold the boxers," she hoots, drawing interested looks from the ladies at the next table.

"I don't need a menu," Beckett admits, blushing. "I just need the time to make sure I'm ready to order."

"That's probably a good idea," Lanie agrees, letting her friend off the hook. "Mostly. Curious timing, though, isn't it? Josh's back in four to six weeks, and you're going to have lunch with Castle in what – five weeks?"

"Coincidence," Beckett answers, looking shy.

"Maybe," Lanie allows. "Though I think we know someone else who might call it fate."

* * *

A/N: Posting earlier than expected again. We'll see when the next chapter goes up – certainly within the next week, but the exact day is TBD. My warranty expired, so I go under the knife later this week. Nothing too serious, but if I disappear, just assume I'm hiding out in a cabin in upstate New York to heal. I'll call.

For those of you who've asked, yes, Beckett and Castle will be in the same scene again before late April. Next chapter, in fact… After that, we'll see. I'm thinking about revamping the outline for the later chapters, but not until late April, their time.

Honor and respect to those who Served.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional.

* * *

 **Week Four**

"Hey, Gimpy, was that your personal nurse outside?" Matt calls out from the other side of the locker room, getting some hoots and interested comments from many of the other guys in the locker room. He's been here for a couple of years and wasn't at all happy about adding an "oldster" to the team. As a result, he tends to be an instigator, looking to have fun at Castle's expense. He's generally harmless, if annoying, though Castle's feeling a bit exposed just now.

With so many groups in the company, Castle's having trouble learning everyone's names, which is made worse with the constantly shifting assignment schedules. But as (bad) luck would have it, Castle's ended up with Matt several times already.

"For the last time," Castle says in exasperation, "my ankle's fine. There's no way that mechanical bull was a mindless automaton – it was _definitely_ sentient and it _definitely_ didn't like me," he grumbles.

"But that wasn't the hottie from the club, the one you said took you dancing," Big John presses, more curious to push Castle for details than to join Matt's teasing. "What's the deal with you and blondes?"

"No, that wasn't my friend from the club," Castle admits, shaking his head while he dries himself off. "That was my editor. She stopped by – unexpectedly – to make sure I'm actually working, that this isn't some story to keep her off my back."

That prompts some lascivious laughter and Castle instantly regrets creating the obvious set up. Matt, of course, obliges.

"Forget 'off your back,'" he cackles. "Give me her number and I'll help her onto hers. That'll take care of it – she'll be too amazed by me to think about you," he challenges while others groan at his tired bravado. Matt manages to strut for a few ridiculous steps before someone whips his flank with a rolled-up towel.

"That'd be _great_ ," Castle enthuses, catching the guys off guard. "I'll give you her number – you should totally take her out, work your magic," Castle challenges, watching several of his colleagues smirk as Matt stutters in discomfort at having been called out. "I'll even set it up myself," Castle says with a smug grin.

"Why? What's wrong with her?" Matt asks, wary and backpedaling. "Is she sick or something?" he asks, watching Castle shake his head. "Psycho?" he asks again, and Castle pauses briefly to pull a look of exaggerated thought before shaking his head again. "Married?" Matt presses, still trying to figure out what's wrong with this situation.

"Not anymore," Castle confides with a smile. "We've been divorced for years," he says happily, conveniently ignoring last summer's disastrously poor decision to consider a reconciliation. "And while she's not a nurse, she used to have this costume…"

"No, thanks," Matt says flatly, happy to have an excuse that lets him slip away from living up to his boasts. "I wouldn't want to get burned by an old flame of yours. Now, if you wanted to set me up with that blonde from the club…"

"Trust me, Matty," Castle replies with a laugh, "she wouldn't give you the time of day."

"So," a small redhead named Sully interjects, "that your girl's baby mama? She looks _good –_ total mi…"

"Don't be crude," Castle interrupts repressively. He's getting increasingly uncomfortable, his hopes for a quick extraction from the situation Gina created with her unanticipated (and unwelcomed) visit foiled by his colleagues' interest in his personal life. There's probably some irony there, he thinks, or karmic retribution. "No," he admits with a shrug that's too nonchalant. "Gina and I married when Alexis was a girl."

"Wait, wait, wait," Kevin enters the conversation, waving his hands around. "Where's your girl's mom? And when're we gonna meet your daughter?"

"California and never," Castle replies quickly, tugging his clothes on. "You must be absolutely crazy if you think I'd let my angel meet you hooligans." Interested in ending this conversation quickly and perhaps slipping away from tonight's outing, Castle starts tugging on his boots before remembering his socks.

"What'sa matter, Rick?" Big John teases. "Afraid your girl might get starry-eyed? I mean, now that we know poetry and everything."

"Please," Castle denies too quickly, his concern obvious. "My girl sees through me, so she'd see you coming a mile away."

"But that's the thing, isn't it?" Dave chuckles from Castle's side. Usually soft-spoken (and blessedly married, Castle thinks), he's the quiet giant of the group, usually content to do his job, soak in the atmosphere for a bit, then go home. Of course, Castle hasn't known him long, so who knows how he was when he started here? A guy who's a dead ringer for a medieval blacksmith, from the barrel chest to the bushy hair, probably enjoyed some attention of his own. "The ladies like the bad-boys, don't they? Even when they know they shouldn't. Plus, add in the possibility of daddy's disapproval…"

"That's it, I'm out of here," Castle grumps, grabbing his coat. "Time to go buy a shotgun," he grumbles as he reaches for his locker before Dave closes it shut.

"Not so fast, newbie," Dave rumbles, voice low and confident. "You've got a different appointment tonight, remember?"

Castle's just winding up to pull out another stalling story before he feels hands clamp on each shoulder. "That's right," Big John says, using all 5 feet and 2 inches of his authority to try to intimidate Castle. "You gotta visit Tiny. After which you're buying drinks, _right_?"

Rubbing his forehead with his hand and trying to figure out how he gets himself into these situations, Castle relents with a sigh. "Alright, let's get this over with."

"That's the spirit!" Matt says with annoying cheerfulness. "There's a bar next to Tiny's place. We'll watch you get started, then go get the drinks ready. Faster you join us, the better the chance there'll be something left for you."

"Yeah," Tommy agrees. "And don't worry – win another fight and we'll buy you another drink."

"What a bargain," Castle grouses before his colleagues escort him on the short walk to the appointment he's been dreading.

* * *

"So, you wanna explain how this isn't doing _exactly_ what we're not supposed to do?" Esposito asks as Ryan holds the door open for them, reveling in the chance to tease Beckett. The doorman waves them through with a cheerful smile, always happy to see Beckett. She gives him a smile that disappears quickly when she turns back to her partners.

"We're pursuing a lead," she says again, her comment sounding hollow in her own ears. "We get assistance on cases from outsiders all the time," she continues, realizing that she should practice this explanation in case it becomes necessary again. "Besides, we're not in the precinct and we're not here to see Castle. Martha knows the industry in general and _Temptation Lane_ in particular. Her insight into the inner workings of the show could be very helpful."

" _Right_ ," Esposito says flatly as he watches the elevator doors open and starts to walk through. Ryan chucks his shoulder and gives him a cross look as he puts a hand in front of the retracted doors, waiting for Beckett to precede them into the elevator. Rolling his eyes at his partner's antiquated manners, Esposito makes a sweeping gesture and bow to motion Beckett ahead.

"Thank you, Kevin," Beckett says kindly, pointedly ignoring Esposito. The nonsense with the boys is actually a welcome distraction as they approach the loft, one that keeps her from dwelling on her last visit here.

"I'm surprised Ms. R. is up and willing to entertain guests already," Ryan comments as the elevator rises. "I never had the impression she's much of a morning person."

"I was surprised, too," Beckett admits, "I'd just meant to leave a voicemail for later."

"Maybe little Castle'll still be around," Esposito notes as the elevator stops on the top floor. "Be nice to see her again, make sure her dad's not driving her crazy."

"Not sure I'd ask it like that, Espo," Beckett says as she leads them out of the elevator and to Castle's door, which is already ajar. "She's actually kind of fond of him." Knocking on the door and opening it a few inches, Beckett calls out "Martha?"

"Come in, darlings, come in!" Martha trills as she approaches. Beckett thought that she'd prepared herself for all of the possible outfits and color combinations that Castle's mother might display. But instead, Martha approaches wearing something that surprises even Beckett and raises alarms in her mind as she recalls comments that Castle made over the years.

As if hypnotized by the odd swirl of discordant colors, Beckett's unable to look away from the kitchen apron before Martha embraces her in a welcoming hug, leaving Beckett shocked and sniffing an odd combination of expensive perfume with a hint of Bloody Mary. Her only consolation is that her team members look even more stunned by the greeting hugs than she must look herself.

"Right this way, darlings," Martha insists as she herds them toward the kitchen island, on which three place-settings are already prepared, with glasses of orange juice waiting. Martha's tall red drink is on the counter next to the stove, and Beckett finds herself wondering if she wouldn't be better served by something like that rather than OJ, regulations be damned. On the way to the island, she casts a surreptitious glance around the loft. It's changed a bit since she was last here – the piano's been turned in place and the pictures rearranged. But she can't tell if any have been replaced or put away.

"Martha, there's no need…," she tries to interject after turning her attention back to her hostess, to no avail.

"Nonsense, Katherine," Martha trills as she turns on the flame beneath a waiting pan. "We're not savages, we're allowed to have a meal with our conversation. Besides, I'm already set up after seeing Alexis off to school this morning."

Beckett nods, wondering if that's why Castle's daughter is already gone – maybe she departed early to get something to eat on the way to Marlowe Prep?

"Ha!" Esposito laughs as he bellies up to the kitchen island, undaunted or unaware of Martha's cooking reputation. "So Castle's sleeping in?" he asks with a devilish look toward Castle's office, clearly thinking of how they might awaken him with some mischief.

"He's not back yet, dear," Martha explains as she looks at the bowl on the counter with some confusion, apparently wondering if she's already added certain ingredients or not. Meanwhile, Ryan and Esposito cast each other looks of raised-brow surprise.

"Walk of shame, eh?" Esposito laughs. "We might have to draw this conversation out – I'd like to be here when he gets back." Ryan nods vigorously, until he sees the look on Beckett's face.

"He's at work, dear," Martha explains gently as she turns and pats Esposito's hand, "though he should be home soon." Turning back to the dilemma of whatever's in the bowl, she perhaps isn't as attentive to her words as she'd normally be. "And don't worry, Javier, you'll find someone special someday, then it won't feel like shame."

Unfortunately, both boys had just taken gulps of orange juice, so both end up coughing wildly in an effort not to spit all over the kitchen island. Ryan's laughing, which only deepens Esposito's sputtering discomfort at Martha's comment.

Martha, meanwhile, shrugs away any confusion, haphazardly adds some spices to the bowl, and pours the contents – an egg mixture, by the looks of it – into the waiting pan. Then, pushing a few buttons on the microwave, she turns back to them with her drink in one hand and a dripping spatula in the other.

"I was heartbroken to hear about Sarah Cutler, of course. _Temptation Lane_ is a favorite of mine and I know so many of the cast and writers. In fact, I've been thinking about reconnecting with of them," she says, looking wistful. "Perhaps I should renew my acquaintances? Would that help your investigation?"

With Ryan and Esposito casting each other looks about how eager Martha seems, Beckett takes it upon herself to collect some information from Castle's mother without getting her overly excited about the case. The truth is that her insight might be valuable, and there might be a reason to accept her offer. But, they need to trace out the possibilities for the case, first, to see if that would make sense. Plus, she's wondering if she should pull Castle aside to make sure there are no objections to involving his mother in their investigation.

As Martha continues sharing her knowledge and gossip about _Temptation Lane_ in particular and daytime television shows in general, she ladles eggs onto the three waiting plates, before reaching into the microwave to extract the bowl of black beans that also gets split three ways. Thankful that she can use the excuse of conducting the interview to refrain from eating, Beckett notices the boys set to their plates with zeal. Ryan stops immediately but Esposito's managed to shovel three forkfuls into his mouth before he freezes in place with cheeks bulging, taste buds finally over-riding instinct.

Trying not to laugh at his distress as he tries to decide whether he should choke down the food or find a way to spit it out, Beckett continues to chat with Martha. Deftly using her fork to surreptitiously move the food around her plate, she's proud that her efforts make it look like she's taken a few bites.

Salvation, for Esposito at least, arrives as Castle trudges into the loft. He's a sight for sore eyes, Beckett thinks as she watches him unceremoniously drop his bag and whatever he was carrying on the foyer floor. His jacket slides easily from his slumped shoulders, leaving him in faded jeans and a careworn sweater. He almost drops the jacket as he tries to hang it up, his efforts interrupted by a jaw-cracking yawn. Coat stowed, he seems to waver, unsure of what he's supposed to do next. After a few moments he realizes that he's still wearing his boots. With a sigh, he appears to be building the energy necessary to remove them.

"Richard, you didn't drive that ridiculous machine home, did you?" Martha calls out as she turns back to the stove to make breakfast for her son. With her attention on the pan and the boys looking at Castle, Beckett quickly scrapes her food onto her team members' plates before turning back to Castle.

"No, Mother," Castle manages through another yawn, as he stands up, his battle with his footwear complete. "I left it there and took a cab. I'll get it after…," he trails off, finally noticing his former team ensconced in his kitchen.

Beckett's not sure how to handle her greeting with Castle now that he's here. The decision to visit Martha suddenly seems like a bad idea. Thankfully, movement from Ryan and Esposito covers her discomfort and allows them all a way forward. The boys have swarmed Castle, turning him around while offering back-slapping hugs and wide smiles as they thank him for their upcoming trip to Vegas. Beckett approaches slowly, not wanting to intrude on their fun but still wanting to greet Castle.

"Hey, Castle," she says when there's finally a lull in the conversation. Her greeting smile falters when he turns and takes a half-step backwards in alarm, surprised by her close proximity.

"Hey, Beckett," he stumbles a recovery, trying to play off his involuntary reaction. Embarrassed by his lack of manners, he offers a hug that Beckett would've missed had she blinked. "Enjoying a late breakfast?" he asks, already stepping away.

It's a casual question, but effective at enabling his escape, Beckett realizes. His question draws Martha into the conversation, allowing her to exclaim in proud tones how much "darling Katherine" enjoyed her cooking and to admonish the boys for their poor effort. While she's talking, Castle sidles over to his mother to offer her a kiss on the cheek, after which he takes a quick look into the pan on the stove and grimaces. Had she been hugged like an old friend rather than an estranged or barely-tolerated relative, the whole exchange would've left Beckett smiling.

"Your mom was helping us with a case," Ryan offers, picking up on some discomfort and offering a way forward even if he's not completely aware of what's going on. "She's given us quite a bit to go on," he praises, noticing the nods from Esposito and Beckett. Martha, meanwhile, beams at the kind words.

"Don't let me get in the way," Castle says pleasantly before yawning again. "I promised Bob I'd stay on the sidelines. Besides, I haven't slept in… what day is it?" he asks, looking honestly befuddled for a moment as he rubs his face. "Actually, it doesn't matter. I'm going to bed."

"Richard, you need to eat," Martha chides as only a mother can, though Castle's already on the move.

"Too tired," he mumbles in reply, still moving forward. "Later."

"Goodnight, dear," Martha calls out as she turns off the stove with a look of relief.

But Castle's already gone, disappeared behind the bookshelf walls of his office. The only audible response is the sound of a large man flopping onto a bed.

The sudden arrival and departure of their former consultant seems to dampen the team's conversation for a moment, which Beckett prolongs by checking her notes. Martha, meanwhile, chides the boys to finish their breakfast, too busy flitting about the kitchen to notice the dark looks they shoot at Beckett. While they try to choke down enough food to be polite, Beckett asks a few last questions before promising Martha they'll bring her into the investigation, perhaps even to the studio, if it looks like that might advance the case.

Finally taking pity on her teammates, Beckett inflates the urgency of some tidbit from Martha and suggests that they get right back to the precinct to work on it. Only too happy to abandon their plates, Ryan and Esposito are out the door in a flash, though not before thanking Martha profusely. She drove to the loft separately, so Beckett takes the opportunity to linger, helping Martha clean up.

"He's okay, isn't he?" Beckett asks quietly as she carries some dishes to the sink, suddenly wary of making eye contact.

"He misses you," Martha says kindly as she pats Beckett on the arm as she walks by. "He hasn't explained much about what's going on, but it's clear that all of this," she says with a sweeping gesture, "is about more than what the mayor needs."

"I miss him, too," Beckett confesses.

"I've encouraged him to leave," Martha says in reply, startling Beckett. "Several times. Oh, don't look put out, Katherine," Martha says, stopping her cleaning efforts to turn and focus on Beckett. "Surely you know my son well enough to know that he'd be wary of anything about which I hadn't registered a complaint," she says with a laugh. "Reverse psychology has worked very well with Richard since he was a young man, as even he knows. As much as he complains about my advice, he knows where it comes from." Concerned that Beckett doesn't seem to be following her explanation, Martha clarifies. "I encouraged him to leave," she stresses, wondering if Beckett is understanding her point, "because I thought it was best that he stayed. And it was."

Beckett nods in agreement, but finds herself struggling with how to reply. Thinking about how things used to be makes her uncomfortable, and it seems too early to confide her hopes that he'll come back to Martha.

"What about now?" she asks instead, putting Martha on the spot. "I know you shouldn't tell me what he's doing, but is it safe?"

"Katherine, working at the precinct wasn't safe," Martha replies, prompting Beckett to remember that in addition to being Broadway Martha Rodgers, the woman next to her is a mother, innately concerned about the welfare of her child. "It wasn't safe, but it helped him mature. Perhaps his current endeavor will do the same."

Beckett feels her stomach drop at Martha's carefully crafted response. "So, he isn't safe," she surmises.

"His new position has its perils, but it might also foster his growth," Martha says. Watching her carefully, Beckett curses her acting talent, which hides many of the tells for which Beckett would normally look. "Plus," Martha adds with a sly look, "even if he works some late nights, his schedule is more regular than it was at the precinct."

Feeling upset about the reference to "perils" and petty that Castle might be in a new situation that serves him well despite the lack of her presence, Beckett feels a little adrift.

"I should go," she says, unable to stop from glancing at the door to Castle's office. "Thank you so much, Martha, for your insights for our case. It's been so helpful that I feel greedy asking for one more thing."

"Oh, Katherine," Martha replies, "it's been a pleasure. Besides," she says while looking every inch the grand dame, "I'm fully capable of saying no. So, what would you like to ask?"

"Would you please call me," Beckett asks, buoyed by Martha's engagement in the conversation, "if he needs help? Things might be strained right now, but he's still my friend."

Martha stares at Beckett for a few moments before surprising her with a fierce hug. "Thank you, Katherine," she murmurs. "Of course I'll call."

Martha releases Beckett and falls into step beside her as she steps towards the door, chatting again about how she'd be happy to visit the set of _Temptation Lane_ if it would help the case. Beckett's assuring her again that they'll call when she trails off, her attention captured by the object Castle dropped on top of his bag when he arrived. "Martha, is that…"

"A 'brain bucket' as he insists on calling it?" she replies with rolled eyes and a look of distaste. "Richard decided that his cars were ' _too ostentatious_ ' for his current assignment," she scoffs. "So, he bought a run-down excuse for a motorized bicycle from someone there who was moving away."

"Even after all his concerns about scooters?" Beckett asks with a laugh.

"Oh, Alexis was quick to point out the double-standard, don't you worry," Martha laughs. "But Richard claims it's part of his character research." Martha's tone makes it clear that everyone knows that's a convenient excuse. "He nearly purchased a motorcycle when he was a younger man, but Alexis arrived and cooler heads prevailed. Instead, he's purchased a machine that's probably older than his daughter," she says with an affectionate shake of her head. "I think he has aspirations of restoring it to its former glory. He's rather obvious with his metaphors."

* * *

"Hey, Castle, thanks for coming in," Montgomery says as he stands and walks around his desk to pump Castle's hand in greeting.

"I don't recall this visit sounding optional," Castle replies, still looking around a little nervously and apparently gladdened to see that there aren't many detectives around.

"Hey," Montgomery ripostes, "I could've had you hauled in. Only problem there would've been choosing among all the officers who woulda volunteered for the job."

"I try not to repeat my previous escapades," Castle laughs as he unslings a light backpack and takes a seat in a guest chair, "not when there are so many novel possibilities. I've already seen the inside of Holding, so we'd need to try something new."

"And you're clothed, barely, so we don't have to worry about any police horses, either," Montgomery jibes, laughing at Castle's rolled eyes. "Seriously, though, what's with the outfit?"

Castle looks down at his black Inklings t-shirt and gray basketball shorts, then shrugs. "I'm a pretty good writer, right?" he asks rhetorically, continuing on even though Montgomery is nodding. "I do a fair job at crafting evocative language to describe a scene or chronicle a character's development. And you know I'm a stickler for diction and grammar."

"And tediously long explanations," Montgomery interjects, which Castle ignores.

"Despite all that talent," he says with a haughty look, "I'm completely at a loss in trying to describe exactly how much I despise running."

"Can't skip the cardio," Montgomery agrees with a smirk. "Were you actually out running when I called?" he asks, pointing to the band around Castle's left arm holding his phone in place or the white earbuds draped around his neck.

"I was just leaving the loft," Castle admits. "As to whether I was 'running' afterward, I think it would be more accurate to say that I was pounding my knees into hamburger by staggering through the streets of New York."

"You really sell it," Montgomery laughs, "but I think I'll stick with the treadmill, thanks. So," he says, noticing Castle's nervous glance out toward the bullpen again. "You're probably wondering why I asked you to come in. And how quickly you can leave."

Castle shrugs, uncomfortable. "It's just awkward," he admits.

"They're in the field, so you don't need to worry about it," Montgomery dismisses with a wave of his hand. "I've got some forms I need you to sign to cover your leave of absence," he says, shuffling some papers.

"My what?" Castle laughs. "How can I take a leave of absence from someplace I wasn't employed?" he asks shrewdly.

"That's the best way for us to process the paperwork so it's easy for you to return," Montgomery says nonchalantly.

"Look, Roy," Castle replies uncomfortably, running a hand through his sweaty hair. "I don't know…," he starts, then loses his nerve with that approach. "I'm not sure I'm coming back."

Nodding and adopting what he hopes is a sympathetic face, Montgomery presses forward. "This isn't a commitment or a contract, Castle," he assures. "It's just an acknowledgment that you're not here now, so any trouble that you cause doesn't go on our tab."

"Oh," Castle answers with a smile. "That's fine. About three weeks too late, though," he pushes with a raised brow. He dashes a signature on the forms with a flourish, then spins them on the desktop so that they're facing Montgomery again.

"Nice signature, Dr. Inigo Montoya," Montgomery offers in a flat voice after glancing at the forms.

"Thanks," Castle mugs it up. "I figure a fake signature is the best way to sign fake forms. So tell me," he says, cutting a glance again at Beckett's desk, "why am I really here?"

"I need to know if I can count on you," Montgomery says seriously, his tone of voice dispelling the air of frivolity resulting from his fictitious forms. "I need to know if Beckett can count on you."

"You're still not being straight with me," Castle charges in reply, starting to get riled. "My willingness to help Beckett was never questioned before."

"She's never been on as dangerous a path before," Montgomery replies. His maintained calm deflates Castle's indignation and prompts a pensive look from the writer.

"Which means she definitely won't ask for help," Castle replies, though his even tone suggests this isn't an accusation but instead some insight gleaned from working beside her for years.

Shaking his head, Montgomery disagrees. "You weren't gone a week before she met with Weldon to figure out how to get you back here," he says while leveling a stare at a surprised Castle. "And she's spent the last couple weeks building a file to sing your praises so we can prove you have a place here. You gonna turn your back on that?"

"I've told her that I'll help with whatever she needs," Castle says after a few moments to process the thought of Beckett actually taking affirmative steps to enable his return to the precinct. "But I made a promise to Bob. And I've got other commitments now."

"A month ago," Montgomery replies with quiet anger, "you would've moved heaven and earth to help that woman. Now you can't fit her into your schedule? Some friend you are."

Clenching his jaw, Castle bites back the words that he'd like to let fly. He's swallowed so many of them in the last few weeks that they're just bursting to escape, and here's Montgomery, pouring salt into still-open wounds. "You don't know what you're talking about," Castle growls.

"I think I do," Montgomery replies. "I think you let your hurt feelings and bruised ego lead you to some stupid decisions," he rails quietly. "I know what you're doing now, and I know what kind of things that required," he charges. "And how long you must've been thinking about it and making preparations before you pulled the trigger."

"I didn't do anything until I was forced out," Castle answers with some fire of his own. "And I wouldn't have left on my own. But I needed to have something to do if she asked me to leave, so, yeah, I'd made some preparations."

This insight into Beckett's partnership with Castle seems to set Montgomery back a bit, makes him wonder about what was going on before Weldon interfered. Apparently, Castle not only thought it likely that Beckett would ask him to leave, but it sounds like he was going to go if she asked. That's a radical change from the early days of their partnership. He finds himself wondering what would've happened if the mayor's plan hadn't forced the issue. Maybe he did them a favor.

A knock on the door startles Montgomery and Castle from their ruminations. "Hey, Cap," Esposito says from the doorway while staring at Castle, obviously surprised to see him in the precinct. "We've got a collar in the Cutler case. Castle," he says while shifting his gaze, "your mom was a big help."

"Excellent," Montgomery praises, ignoring the annoyed look Castle shoots his way while standing to depart. His motion is all the invitation Esposito needs to open the office door all the way and enter, trailed closely by Ryan and Beckett.

"Hey, Castle," Ryan says on the way in. "Thought you weren't supposed to be here?"

"Lingering paperwork," Castle says good-naturedly while extending a hand to greet Ryan, nodding to the stack of papers Montgomery's sweeping into a manila folder.

"Thought you didn't do paperwork?" Esposito teases.

"I don't. Can you imagine how much thicker that file would be if I did?" Castle agrees with a smile before turning to shake Esposito's hand.

In return for the crack about paperwork, Esposito slaps the upper part of Castle's arm with his left hand while he shakes hands with his right. Nobody misses Castle's hiss or flinch at the contact.

"What the hell?" Esposito asks as he lifts the sleeve of Castle's t-shirt to reveal a white bandage wrapped around his right bicep. "Is that a _tattoo_ under there?"

Reaching over with his left hand to tug his sleeve back down, Castle shakes his head and casts Montgomery another dark look for his ' _don't worry, they're in the field_ ' assurances. "Not everyone," he sighs in resignation, "is satisfied with an espresso machine. Some initiation expectations are a little more painful."

"You didn't," Montgomery asks in a low tone, shaking his head and getting only a shrug in reply. "Oh, brother," is the only reply the Captain can muster. "Go on, get out of here before you get us all in trouble. We still on for poker on Saturday?"

Castle nods, glad to show that their earlier harsh words have no lasting effect.

"Good, I'll give you hell there," Montgomery says roughly. " _And_ I'll take your money."

"First time for everything," Castle answers with a nonchalant shrug. "Can I borrow Beckett for a second before I go?"

Startled at being singled out and by Castle's interest in speaking with her, Beckett looks quickly to at her Captain and gets a look of approval. "Break room?" she suggests to Castle's nod.

Castle reaches down to pick up his backpack before following her out. Stopping at the door, he turns back to Montgomery. "About that thing you asked me," he says, getting a nod from Montgomery and confused looks from the boys. "Of course you can count on me. I'm insulted you even had to ask."

"Good man," Montgomery replies with a satisfied nod.

Beckett's already in the break room when Castle arrives, working the espresso machine. "Make you one?" she offers, looking like she's trying to act as if everything is normal, though she's clearly curious about what Castle's up to.

"No, thanks," Castle replies. "It's a long way home and I'm not sure coffee will help," he shrugs.

"Never figured you for a runner, Castle," Beckett says to break the air of fragile tension. "You never mentioned an interest in the past. Quite the opposite, actually."

"I'm not a runner, more of a gasper," he admits with a smile, using small talk to procrastinate. "And 'runner' implies some ability to move at speed. I'm _slow_ , Beckett. So slow I seem to move backwards. I only made it to the precinct because I gave up and tried to go home."

Beckett blows out a huff at that, grateful for the delayed discussion, too, it seems. "Maybe you're not trying hard enough," she suggests. "It's a long way from the loft and you barely broke a sweat."

"I've got clothes down in the locker room that disprove your theory," Castle admits. "Montgomery may have pulled me in unexpectedly, but that's no reason to mess up his guest chair."

"Well, it suits you. You look great," Beckett says quietly before growing uncomfortable and turning to tend to her drink.

Deciding that procrastinating is just making things more awkward, Castle dives in. "Thank you for including mother in your investigation," he says earnestly. "She really enjoyed herself and it helped her reconnect with some old friends. It was kind of you to think of her."

"She was wonderful," Beckett murmurs, making note again of the tight bonds of Castle's tiny family. "And very helpful," she says, thinking both of the case and Martha's other comments.

"If she can help again, please call her. She'd love to hear from you," he says in an odd tone, putting Beckett on edge. "Will you do me a favor, though, please?" he asks, waiting for her nod. "Just drop me a text next time you're going to visit. I'm sorry about the awkward greeting," he says while running a hand through his hair, "but you were about the last person I expected to see in the loft. The last person I was ready to see."

"Oh," Beckett answers quietly, looking down at her mug.

"Look, I know this is the height of hypocrisy," Castle admits with a grimace. "But I need someplace safe, just until we're in a better place. I thought I was doing well," he says, chagrined, "but just seeing you set me back weeks."

"I'm sorry," Beckett apologizes, wondering if he knows why she's apologizing, what it covers aside from her surprise visit. "I miss you. I've been thinking about what you said. You were right. About a lot of it."

"We'll get there, Beckett," Castle affirms, seemingly unwilling to get into a deeper discussion. "It's just going to take some time." That said, he lifts his pack and is about to put it on when he remembers the reason he has it in the first place, aside from a place to store the change of clothes he brought to the precinct. "I didn't think you were going to be here," he babbles an explanation as he reaches into the bag and pulls a large envelope from a clipboard, handing it to her. "I was going to leave this on your desk."

"Please tell me it's not another goodbye card?" Beckett tries to joke.

"No," Castle replies quietly. "Just something you'll pretend not to like. Take care, Kate," he says as he slings on the pack and dons his earbuds to signal his departure. Realizing that her chance to say something meaningful to him is about to expire, Beckett steps forward quickly and halts his departure with a gentle hand on his forearm.

"Castle, I'm honoring your request for time and privacy, but I'm really looking forward to seeing you at Remy's," she reminds him, "unless you'd be willing to meet before then. There are things that I want to tell you, but I'll wait as you asked. Just, please don't try too hard to forget about me?" she asks with quiet hope and sincerity.

In response, Castle looks at her hand on his arm, then at her face. He looks like he wants to say something but then changes his mind. Finally, he simply nods, departing silently as Beckett lifts her hand to let him go.

Returning to her coffee, Beckett decides that there's no need to return to Montgomery's office. The boys can provide the details on the arrest and Montgomery can check in with her if he has any questions. Instead, she takes a few minutes to do what she'd described to Lanie – just take some time to sit and think. She resolves to do that while she drinks her coffee, and further resolves to leave the envelope from Castle unopened until she's finished her cup. So it is that Kate Beckett, frenetic workaholic, actually sits in relative peace for nearly ten minutes. But as calm as those initial minutes prove to be, by the time she can see the bottom of her mug she's worked up again, anxious to see what's in the envelope.

Downing the last of her coffee, she reaches for the envelope and eagerly tears it open. She's shaking her head and wearing a sweet smile before the autographed photo from the cast and crew of _Temptation Lane_ is even halfway free of the envelope. The juxtaposition stirs conflicted, contradictory feelings. There's Josh, who didn't know about Johanna and didn't exactly impress her with his reaction. And then there's Castle, who somehow knew that she was a closet _T-Laner_ without being told and provided her with a gift even during their current estrangement. She doesn't know if she should be thrilled that he's still thinking of her or depressed that he gave her the photo after asking her to leave him alone.

* * *

"What about the lady in the red dress?" Castle asks while Fred nibbles on her udon. After a casual glance to her side, she looks back at Castle.

"No way," she answers. "Totally straight. But unattached. Maybe you should go introduce yourself."

"Nope," Castle answers happily, popping the "p" before stealing a noodle from her plate. "I'm just the wing-man today. _You're_ the pilot."

"Then we're going down in flames," Fred grouses with good humor. "Seriously, you need to be ready to start dating, Rick. We'd be unstoppable – something to offer any single woman."

"I'm good," he replies easily, still comfortable with his time out from the dating scene.

"That's what I keep telling the ladies," Fred replies with a wicked smile. "So when you're ready, you'll have a reputation to live up to."

Castle's smiling and preparing for his reply when Fred's cell phone rings. She apologizes and moves to reject the call until she sees the number. "Sorry, I have to take this," she apologizes. Answering the phone while she rises, Fred walks off to stand next to the front door of the wonderful Asian restaurant at which she met him for lunch, separated from the dining area by a wall of glass.

Initially using the opportunity to scan the restaurant for other options for Fred, Castle finds his attention drawn back to her. Whatever the call's about, it's not good news. Fred looks agitated, waving her arms around and appearing to speak in short, staccato bursts. Each minute that passes leaves Fred looking more upset, until she finally disconnects her call, looking crestfallen. She takes a few moments to collect herself before returning to the table where Castle rises to greet her.

"I'm sorry, Rick, but I need to go," she apologizes, standing next to the table as if she's going to spin on her heel and leave immediately.

"Hold on," he says, walking around the table to hold her chair out for her. "Just take five minutes to tell me what's wrong – maybe I can help."

"I doubt it," she answers, though she takes her seat. "It's about work."

"I've done work before," Castle answers with a sly smile as he returns to his seat. "It was a long time ago, but I think I still remember how. I _suppose_ I could do it again." When he sees a grudging smile, he reaches out and taps her hand. "So, talk."

"That was the business manager at the Clairborne," Fred explains. "It's the venue for our biggest marketing event of the year. At least it was supposed to be," she says bitterly. "But the chef just got caught shtupping two of the hostesses. His wife, who actually owns the majority stake in the restaurant, is shutting it down, effective immediately and lawsuits be damned. It's dirty and nasty and now I'm completely screwed."

"So we'll find a new venue," Castle shrugs. "There's only about half a million of them in New York. No problem."

"Rick, our event is _a week from next Friday_. There's no way," Fred laments, getting upset, "absolutely no way we can find the right kind of place by then."

"Without me, probably not," he boasts. "But I know a thing or two about throwing parties."

"You don't get it, Rick," she answers, looking angry that he's minimizing her efforts. "I spend _all year_ planning this. It isn't some beer bash in a backyard. It's the single most important business development event our firm hosts, and it's my responsibility. And…," she trails off, looking down.

"And?" Castle prompts, squeezing her hand.

"And it was going to be my job application, my magnum opus," she confesses, still looking down. "I'm sorry, Rick, I didn't want to tell you about this."

"So, it sounds like your hopes to move are to a new place, not just a new firm?" he surmises. "I'm your friend, Fred, not some porcelain doll. You're supposed to confide in me."

"I want to go home," she admits in a small voice. "I was so ready to leave after Susan broke things off," she admits. "You've been the only ray of sunshine for me since then. But I'm tired of my New York experiment. I wanted to knock this event out of the park and then use it to get a good offer from a place in LA."

"How many people are we talking about?" Castle asks, breaking out his rarely-seen pragmatism.

"Almost _two_ _hundred_ , all in," Fred whispers. "About 120 of our best clients and their partners, about 30 from the firm, and about 30 from the modeling agency we use for most of our campaigns."

"Wait, wait, wait," Castle says, waving his hands. " _Models_? Maybe I'm closer to being ready than I thought."

"You have a thing for models, Rick?" Fred asks, convinced that he's talking nonsense.

"Kryptonite, Keates," he says with a laugh while surprising them both by using her surname. "They're my kryptonite."

"That I can believe," she says with a shake of her head. "An imaginary limitation on even more imaginary skills and abilities," she laughs, looking at his look of deep offense.

"You'll see," he promises, "you'll see. Now, are you wed to a stodgy, pretentious location or would you be willing to consider something a little more trendy?"

" _Pretentious_?" Fred growls in return. "You were listening when I said I spend all year planning this, right? The Clairborne is _not_ stodgy _or_ pretentious."

"Not if your guests are driving up in their Studebakers or expecting to dance the Lindy," Castle replies, getting punched in the shoulder for his comments. "So, would something more on the up-and-coming side work?"

"Anything would work," she grouses. "Since otherwise we'll probably have to find a park somewhere."

"Okay, let me make a call," he says, nodding toward where Fred had retreated to receive her bad news. "One option comes immediately to mind, but there're others, too."

"Rick, stop being ridiculous," Fred replies, edging from angry to resigned. "It's sweet of you to offer, but you don't have any idea what goes into something like this. And I don't want you to work yourself into a state about it."

"Oh, the arrogance of youth," Castle sighs with exaggerated condescension. "Padawan, you should've come to me about this sooner – then you really would've had a party for the ages. But we can work with what we've got. Trust me," he says as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wallet, opening it and plucking out his driver's license, "I know what I'm doing. Use your phone for a few internet searches while I'm on my call. Google is probably my best resume, just don't believe anything from Page Six." Then, after handing his license to her so that she can finally know his real name, Castle retreats to the entryway.

Selecting a number from his contacts, Castle looks up to check on Fred as he lifts his phone to his ear. Her eyebrows are already in her hairline and her mouth is open. Probably Page Six, he thinks morosely. Maybe TMZ.

" _Rick_?" he hears as his call is answered. " _Is that you_? _Is Becks okay_?"

"Hey, Maddie," Castle says in a friendly voice, turning his back on Fred so he can focus on his call. "Everything's fine," he says in reply, setting that topic aside rather than lie about it. "I was actually calling with a proposition for you."

" _If it involves tequila or chocolate syrup, the answer is_ _yes_ ," Maddie replies wickedly, making Castle recall exactly how flirtatious Beckett's old friend can be. Were it not for the Beckett connection, maybe… " _And if it involves both_ ," she interjects again, " _I can be there in 20 minutes_."

"You know what, Maddie?" Castle replies with his own roguish tone, "I was wrong. I think I might have several propositions for you," he corrects himself, delighting in her chiming laugh. "But, business first. What's Q3's maximum occupancy?"

If Maddie is thrown by the sudden shift from flirty banter to commercial interests, she doesn't show it. Castle recalls that she was a fierce businesswoman, as she'd have to be to survive in New York's restaurant scene. " _Two-eighteen_ ," she answers promptly. " _Including staff. Why, are you looking for a venue? Are you and Becks…_ "

" _No_ ," Castle replies, probably too firmly. "Absolutely not. How would you feel about hosting the annual business development soiree for Aegis Marketing?"

" _Are_ _you_ _kidding me_?" Maddie practically shouts into the phone. " _Do you have any idea what kind of coverage events like that get? I've been trying to land one of those parties since before I opened_ ," she confesses.

"That's the good news," Castle admits, using his tone as well as his words to signal the arrival of a tougher request. "Now for the bad news – what would you have to do to host the party on April 8th?"

" _You are kidding me_ ," Maddie answers. When Castle doesn't reply, she starts thinking out loud. " _Really_? _Well, we're booked. So that's about 80 parties of different sizes, plus some vacancies for VIPs_ ," she rattles off. " _I'm looking down the list, Rick, and there are some people on here I would_ not _want to piss off_."

"There's got to be something we could do, though, right?" Castle wheedles, seducing Maddie with the idea of an event that might launch Q3 into the stratosphere. "I'm sure we could work something out with those who have reservations. A free dinner on another day? Maybe with an author in attendance? And maybe give them an option of first reservations for your next place?"

" _Subtle, Rick, really subtle_ ," Maddie replies vaguely, clearly allocating most of her mindshare to processing the possibilities, which might include making enough of a splash to open another restaurant.

"Is it possible?" Castle asks. "You probably heard what happened with the Clairborne," he asserts, knowing that she must be attentive to competitive developments.

" _Christmas came early this year_ ," Maddie replies with a tone of deep satisfaction. " _Couldn't happen to a bigger pig. Get me drunk some time and I'll tell you stories about that guy_ ," she laughs. " _Actually, forget that. If we get drunk together, we'll have much better things to do_."

"Might it make this whole possibility even sweeter," Castle coaxes, addressing the first part of Maddie's comment and ignoring the second, "to know that you stole the Aegis event away from him?" Castle suggests.

" _It would be more delicious than anything he could cook_ ," Maddie admits.

"Are you doing anything this afternoon?" Castle asks, trying to drive this forward. "My friend Winnie Keates is the client relations director at Aegis and she needs to nail this down quickly. We were just at lunch when the Clairborne news broke and I asked her to give you the first shot. If this isn't going to work, we'll need to find something else."

" _I'll meet you at Q3 – I can be there in 15 minutes_ ," Maddie answers.

"Wait a minute," Castle answers, happy that this might work out but also offended. "Fifteen minutes? But it was 20 minutes for me, tequila, and chocolate syrup."

" _Oh, Rick_ ," she coos in reply, " _I would've thought you'd appreciate taking your time with the fun stuff_ ," she laughs. " _Besides, this is business. So get that fine ass moving_!"

"We'll be right over, we just need to settle up first. But we're on our way," he says with a laugh before disconnecting.

His sense of satisfaction at maybe having figured out a solution to Fred's problem wavers a bit on his approach to their table. She's sitting calmly – much more calmly than he would've expected. She watches him return to the table, keeping her expression blank.

Nervous but curious, he takes a seat and signals the waitress for their bill. He's about to share his news when Fred grabs his hand and pulls it under the table, squeezing for all she's worth.

"You are in _so much trouble_ ," she whispers fiercely.

"What? Why?" Castle asks, momentarily surprised.

"You're _Richard Castle_!" she hisses before looking around to make sure no one overheard.

"I know I am," he says dumbly. "Is that a problem?"

"No," she allows, releasing some of the pressure from her grip. "It's just you… and I… dancing. And lunch. And this!" she says, waving her phone around while confused and inarticulate. Shaking her head, Fred tries to get herself under control. "It's just that you seem so normal, so real. Not like someone famous."

"I'm still me," he says with a shrug, looking at her to get some kind of reaction. When she offers an embarrassed smile and releases his hand, he smiles in return. "Are we still friends? Can I still trick you into going dancing with me?"

"Of course you can," she says with a shy smile. "And I might have to eat my words about your penchant for models. So, I bow to your wisdom and experience – any advice you can offer with my party problem, would be greatly appreciated," she says, clasping her hands before her and bowing. "What did you have in mind?"

"I know the owner of a restaurant that might work. Actually, she's a friend of Beckett's," Castle confesses, getting a surprised look from Fred. He can tell that she's going to say something sympathetic, so he forges on to forestall her. "Q3 – ever heard of it?"

"Sure," Fred answers, eyes going hazy as she thinks about the possibilities. "It's a different angle, but it could work," she says speculatively. "It could work very well."

"She's waiting for us there," Castle replies as the waitress arrives with their bill. "Want to go plan a party? When we're done, the people in LA will be begging to meet you."

* * *

A/N: There! Beckett and Castle were in the same scene – two, in fact. Be careful what you wish for.

To answer some questions from the reviews and PMs, we'll find out what Castle's up to when Beckett does. As she notes in this chapter, Beckett's trying to honor the requests he made back when he initially left the precinct, which means she won't be actively investigating his new job. So, remember that this story is about the journey, not the destination. Besides, Castle's got a new passion that'll keep him busy for the next few weeks as he helps plan the Aegis party.

Many thanks for the reviews, follows, and favorites. Getting those email notifications always makes me smile. I'm happy to reply to all the reviews and PMs to which replies are possible, but I'm going to drop out for a few days, so I might take a little longer than usual to reply. My apologies, but I'll be back in action soon.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional.

* * *

 **Week Five**

"Rick?" Gina asks in surprise, looking up from her desk to see her ex-husband standing in the doorway to her office, waving off his escort. They very rarely meet in her office, opting instead for restaurants when possible and conference rooms when required. In fact, she can't remember the last time he was here. "Did we have an appointment?" she asks in confusion, pulling out her phone to check her schedule.

"No appointment," he says with a smile. "But do you have a minute?"

"Of course," Gina replies in surprise, gesturing to her guest chair. Castle sidles into her office and takes some time to inspect the photos on the wall on the way to the guest chair. He's surprised, though perhaps he shouldn't be, to see himself peeking out of one of them. It's not from when they were married or from their doomed attempt to reconcile – it's a candid shot from an event in the time between.

"Miami," Gina reminds him, sounding wistful. "That was a good trip."

"It was," Castle agrees as he wanders over and takes a seat. "We were hitting our stride again with the fallout from our divorce far enough behind us."

"But not so far as to have forgotten why it happened," Gina adds, looking not upset but reflective.

"Exactly," Castle agrees, glad that he and Gina seem to be on the same page. The last thing he wants is for his courtesy visit to send mixed signals. "Is that's why it's up there? As a reminder in case we think of tripping down that road again?"

"It's a good picture from a happy time," Gina replies with a raised brow. "A professional picture from a work event with my favorite pain in the ass."

Castle chuckles and pretends to straighten his tie, though he's only wearing a button-down and blazer. "At least I'm the favorite."

"Any warnings or reminders that the picture provides are strictly an extra benefit," Gina goes on to explain, making Castle nod again. "That's not why you're here is it?"

"No," Castle agrees gently, "that's not why I'm here. I actually came in to meet with your boss," he says to Gina's surprise. "But I wanted to see you first to let you know why I'm meeting him. I figure I've given you enough surprises over the years, so I didn't want you to be caught out or think that I'm going over your head about something."

"Thanks, I think," Gina replies, still looking surprised at Castle's courtesy. Things have been rocky between them since they broke up again, and he didn't seem to appreciate last week's impromptu visit very much. "Am I allowed to ask why you're meeting with him?"

Castle laughs in response. It's not often that Gina feels out of place in her professional life – it's a central part of her identity and has been for as long as he's known her. In fact, that's why they've been able to work together even after the wreckage of their failed romance. So, if she's a little off balance now, he needs to make note and remember it, because she'll probably be running this company, or retired, before it happens again.

"Of course," he replies. "Black Pawn uses three main ad agencies, right?"

"DeBoer, Meadowes, and Ogilvy," Gina confirms, her mastery of the corporate functions of Black Pawn contributing to his smile. "They subcontract, but those are the three main accounts. Why? Is there a problem?"

"Not a problem," he assures her. "At least not for me."

"Here we go," Gina replies with a grimace. "What did you do this time?"

"This time?" Castle squeaks good-naturedly. "That seems to imply that I've done something wrong in the past."

"You're right, how sloppy of me," Gina replies with a chuckle while shaking her head. "Let me be more clear: it's been at least 15 minutes since your last shenanigan or arrest report, so what do you have planned?"

Truly having fun now, Castle's reminded that things weren't always bad with Gina. "I've got a friend who's the client relations director at Aegis. Their big marketing event is coming up but their venue fell through, so I've been helping her make adjustments."

"Was she burned by that Clariborne mess?" Gina asks, more riled than sympathetic. "You know Lucinda Lopez, the agent for Lisa Wickersham? Total nightmare. And that's the only place she'd meet with me. Heaven knows how I'll deal with that woman now," Gina grouses.

"You could try Q3," Castle suggests with a shrug of his shoulders. "That's where Aegis moved after the Clairborne fell through."

"Is _that_ what this is about?" Gina asks with a discerning look. "You and Madison Queller?"

"No!" Castle replies, surprised that Gina knows Maddie, at least by reputation. "She's just a friend. And Winnie's just a friend," he rambles, barely remembering not to refer to her as Fred when talking to someone she might meet professionally. "We're all just friends."

"Hmmm. 'Just friends' seems to be the theme of your relationships these days," she says shrewdly, and maybe with a little lingering hurt of her own. "I wonder why that is?"

Dammit. Gina knows far too much about Beckett for Castle's liking. She doesn't know the exact details, but knowing that he's left the precinct is probably enough. It makes him wonder, again, about Gina's agenda for last week's surprise visit.

"As part of helping my friend Winnie," Castle blunders forward, refusing to address Gina's question, "I told her I'd invite a few writer friends, like Lisa and Tom," he says while nodding to some of the other pictures on the wall. "They get a low-impact night on the town and some of Winnie's preferred clients get to meet their favorite authors."

"And be wooed by publishing companies who use Aegis for their marketing needs," Gina finishes the explanation in a flat tone. "So, let me get this straight – you're talking about skimming off some of our top authors and putting them someplace where they'll be actively poached."

"That's not the intent and I think the risk is low," Castle admits, "but it's why I'm here. I've got a pair of tickets for your boss, so he can play shepherd at the event if it's a concern for him."

"Of course it's a concern!" Gina replies in exasperation. "Dammit, Rick, how could you do this to me?" Taking a deep breath, she calms herself before looking again at her ex-husband. "Sorry," she says with a shrug, "you still have a talent for pushing my buttons."

She keeps an admirably blank face after this comment, but her blush shows that her mind might've wandered on other interpretations of her words. Warning bells start clanging in Castle's head as he remembers heated arguments that led to other developments in their shared past.

"I should probably get moving – can't be late for my meeting with the boss," he says with a shrug as he rises from the chair. "But now you know what we'll be talking about so you won't be embarrassed by any surprises."

Nodding, Gina gives him another assessing look before rising from her chair and walking around her desk to see him out. "Wait a minute, Rick. I owe you an apology," she says to his surprise. "I know we still fall into our old ways of dealing with each other, but I might've been too quick to complain. I'm sure it wasn't easy to get Pawn invited to Aegis' big party since we don't use them. And this advanced planning," she says with a wave between them, "is very kind of you. Thank you," she says, leaning in to drop a quick kiss on his cheek.

"We might not've worked," Castle says gently as he steps back and toward the door, "and I've made plenty of mistakes. But I'm still trying to get better, still looking for that one aspect of your life I might not turn upside down," he says with a wry grin.

"You're still my favorite pain in the ass," she reminds him with a smile as she waves him out of the office and starts to return to her seat.

"Oh, Rick," she calls out as he's nearly through the doorway. "Ed's traveling a lot for the next few weeks. What do I do if he passes the invite to me?" The question is nonchalant and all the more dangerous as a result.

"Then find a date and buy a dress and some dancing shoes," he says with a smile and a shrug. "I'm having fun. It's going to be a fantastic party."

* * *

"Sir? You wanted to talk?" Beckett asks from the doorway. Lost in thought with his back turned to her as he cleans his office, Montgomery failed to notice her gentle knock.

"Sorry, Beckett," he apologizes while gesturing to a chair, then lifting a stack of files and moving them to a side table before returning to his chair.

"Spring cleaning?" Beckett asks with a smile, waving an arm around Montgomery's office to take in the mess. As often happens with big cleaning projects, the in-between stage makes his office even messier than it was at the start. From the scope of the disruption, it looks like he's embarked on a massive purge.

"No," he says more seriously than Beckett expected, "just putting things in order."

The tone and word choice puts Beckett on edge. "You're not retiring, are you?"

Cocking a brow at what could easily be viewed as an impertinent question, Montgomery sits in silence for a few moments, during which Beckett returns his stare.

"I'm not retiring," he says when she refuses to look away. "Just decided that it's well past time to clean up some of my past," he says with a sweeping gesture, again in a tone that Beckett finds hard to place. "But that's not why I called you in," he says unnecessarily. "How's your project going?"

"It's a mixed bag," Beckett admits. "The Cutler case slowed me down a little bit. But this is done," she says while handing Montgomery a file folder with a memory stick balanced precariously on top.

"How strong a case can we make?" he asks, already assuming that this is Beckett's research project on how the team performed with Castle's assistance, the one on which the Mayor's intern had helped.

"It depends on the audience," Beckett admits. "Any cop who looks at that will be impressed. But if you don't know how hard our jobs are, you won't appreciate Castle's contributions."

"Explain," Montgomery asks tersely, setting the file down on his desk without opening it. "Assume I'm not a cop and see if you can make a case."

"Okay," Beckett replies, happy that her voice doesn't betray her nerves. She hadn't really thought about making a case yet and doesn't want to screw this up. Focus on the core story, she reminds herself, before jumping in.

"In some ways, murder cases are just like other crimes. Sometimes they're elaborate, bizarre, and premeditated – maybe even meticulously planned. Other times, they're simple crimes, sometimes laughably so. That means some of our cases are easy to solve, and others are very difficult."

"Okay," Montgomery nods, "I'm with you."

"Assume we can separate our cases in two groups," Beckett proposes. "The first group includes the easy cases – the ones with simple explanations, short suspect lists, and obvious motives. The second group is the difficult cases. Those are the terrors, the cases where nothing seems to make sense, everyone's got an alibi, and there's either a dearth or surfeit of motives."

"Hmmm," Montgomery emits in a doubtful tone while tapping his chin. "Sounds like the vast majority of cases would fall in the middle.

"Doesn't matter," Beckett replies easily. "Either assume that we can split cases down the middle and they go into the right group or we can ignore the cases in the middle for now. It doesn't change the story." Seeing Montgomery's shrug at this comment, Beckett continues. "You'd expect that it would take much less time to solve the easy cases than the hard ones, right?"

Montgomery nods, adding a gruff, "Of course."

"That was the case for us before Castle showed up," Beckett admits. "But it's not true anymore. At least not until he left," she says with a grimace. "For the cases when Castle was around, the time-to-close was indistinguishable for both groups, statistically speaking."

"So," Montgomery says, looking like he's challenging the results, "what you're saying is that having the writer underfoot slows you down, that it takes longer than it should to solve the easy cases."

"No," Beckett replies, suppressing her smile at the obvious question. "Our times for the hard cases come down when Castle's around."

"Is that because he helps," Montgomery asks with the same look, except for the glint in his eye, "or because the rest of you work harder to get rid of him?"

"Correlation is easy to prove statistically," Beckett says as if a professor, "but causality is almost impossible to prove. Let's just say I have my own theories about the reasons."

"I bet you do," Montgomery says with a laugh. "So that's the story – Castle helps speed up our closes on the hard cases? I see two obvious problems. The first is the one you mentioned, getting people to appreciate the complexity of our cases. It makes sense, but it's not a quick story."

"And the second?" Beckett asks, wondering what else has him concerned.

"It's too easy to juke the stats," he says simply. "Castle's not an employee, so there's no record of when he was here or which cases he worked. The results depend on which cases he worked, and that's all been determined by you, right? Hardly independent."

"That's a weakness," Beckett admits. "But there are a couple things that help there. Castle's morbid curiosity and short attention span, for starters." At Montgomery's curious look, Beckett explains. "He loves the tough cases but was involved in very few of the easy ones, since he finds those boring. Though he probably still hastened our efforts on the few easy ones he was on as we tried to get him to stop whining," she pretends to complain to Montgomery's smiling nod.

"That'll help," he encourages. "What else?"

"Well, we do have records of which cases Castle worked," Beckett says, looking slightly shamed. "When he started, I kept careful notes of which cases he saw. Just in case…," she trails off, abashed.

"Just in case he got us into trouble, impeded your efforts, treated more case files with light-fingered contempt, or gave you cause to have him thrown out?" Montgomery guesses.

"It seemed prudent at the time," she mumbles. "I stopped with the notes, but I still mark which cases he works to this day. Well, I did," she shrugs, reminding himself that he's not here anymore. "I know it's not independent, but you should have some confidence if you're asked about it."

"Did you share this with your team?" Montgomery asks while pointing to the folder on his desk. Seeing Beckett's nod, he pursues his next question. "What did they think? Did they agree with the story?"

Beckett laughs, then covers her mouth. "Sorry, it's just that you sounded a bit like Castle there, looking for the _story_. As for whether they agreed, maybe I should've mentioned that as the third bit that builds the credibility."

"How so?" Montgomery asks, interest piqued.

"They… we haven't always recognized Castle's contributions," Beckett says, adjusting her words to acknowledge some of her own comments from the past and to stand united with her team. "It's easy, or maybe we've made it easy, to minimize some of his contributions. Did we move faster because Castle knew someone who'd talk to us? Did we catch something we otherwise would've missed because he kept our spirits up and our bodies well caffeinated?"

"Or did he actually make contributions that we overlooked or didn't credit because he's not a cop?" Montgomery nods with a resigned look. "I know which theory Mendoza would suggest. I take it this story didn't sit well with your team?"

"It's always uncomfortable recognizing flaws," Beckett admits. "This mirror was no different than any other."

"Okay," Montgomery nods, still thinking about the report. "I'll take a look. I'll get back to you with suggestions, otherwise I'll get this to the Mayor," he says briskly, clearly moving them to their next topic. "Now, what about the other side of things?" he asks of Beckett's investigation into the DA's office.

"Not much there yet, I'm afraid," Beckett admits. "I need to go a little slower there and I can't really ask Hannah to help."

"Let me focus your efforts," Montgomery suggests. "Don't worry about the DA himself. I think he'll have his hands full soon enough. Focus on his predecessors."

"Wait a minute," Beckett interjects with palm outstretched. "What do you mean he'll have his hands full?"

Montgomery gives her a hard look for several long moments before speaking again in that odd tone from the first part of their conversation. "I'm constantly amazed," he says, "by how we all think we're without sin, even when we know it's not true."

Beckett looks at him, waiting for him to keep talking, but Montgomery remains frozen, as if surprised by his own words, or his audacity at speaking them aloud. "Sir?" she finally prompts.

"His campaign's only a few weeks old but it's already in trouble. Turner's hiring decisions are motivated by fairly obvious, and base, motives. Turns out he's gotten to know several of the women in his office very well," Montgomery says with distaste. "And he either assumed they'd stay quiet or that it wouldn't matter."

"You're joking," Beckett replies in disbelief. "All this work, all this stress, when his campaign's been doomed from the start?"

"It takes a special kind of ego to run for office," Montgomery opines, "one that's not especially dented by reality. You say 'doomed from the start,' but I don't think he'll stop, at least not right away. He'll try to hang on, see if this blows over. It might even make him more vitriolic on his Weldon attacks."

"And you want me to leave him alone to focus on something else?" she asks incredulously.

"Turner's harassment scandal is like a gut shot. We know it's almost certain to kill him, but not quickly. While he's running around bleeding out, we need to take away his chance at recovery. To do that, I want you to dig into his predecessors, and I want you to make it obvious that you're poking around."

"I don't understand," Beckett presses. "He won't be _that_ distracted, and it's still the DA's office. That'll cause us problems that'll outlive Turner."

"Do you trust me, Beckett?" Montgomery asks while pinning her with a look before assuming her affirmative response. "I know what I'm doing. When Turner gets wind of this he won't go to his staff, he'll come for me. That's a meeting we want to force. You just get him there and I'll take care of the rest."

"Okay," Beckett replies, not entirely on board but willing to trust her captain. "Anyone in particular I should focus on among his predecessors?"

"Look into people who've left the DA's office," Montgomery replies. "Look for someone whose current success might fall to ashes if past corruption at the DA's office comes to light."

* * *

"I need to get to my homework," Alexis says with regret, "but it was nice to finally meet you, Fred."

"Are you kidding me?" Fred replies with a wide smile. "After all the stories I've heard, I was dying to meet you. But, before you go, will you tell me something?"

Suspecting that the gleam in Fred's eye portends some mischief, Alexis is happy to play along. "Certainly."

"Is Martha real?" Fred asks. "And does she really live here?"

Laughing at the ridiculous questions and her father's indignant look, Alexis warms even further to Castle's new friend. "Oh, Grams is very real. She'll be so disappointed she missed you tonight. _Someone_ apparently decided that an impromptu birthday dinner was the best way to introduce you to the household," she adds, scolding her father again. "Normally, she'd be here for dinner, but she's, uh, reconnected with an old friend from _Temptation Lane_ and is spending a lot of time with him lately."

"Which I'm sure is completely unrelated to tonight's dinner being an unscheduled event," Fred suggests shrewdly, casting her own look at Castle. "Otherwise, she could've brought her new beau to dinner, too."

At this comment both women laugh at the look of puckered distaste that Castle can't hide. Feeling like he's being cast as the stereotypical son who thinks no suitor is good enough for his mother, he feels the need to justify his reaction. "I'm sure he's a perfectly nice guy, even if he is a horrible actor. But I'm just not ready to see him at the dinner table after walking in on them…"

Their laughter turning to looks of mild horror, the ladies let this topic drop. "Sorry, Rick," Fred offers with palms raised. "You're right. Joking aspersions apologetically withdrawn," she says formally, bowing her head in contrition.

Quirking a brow at Fred's interesting apology, Alexis opts for a more direct route. "Thanks for the reminder, dad. I think I'll head upstairs and hope that studying Calc will drive that image from by brain."

Castle rises in tandem with his daughter, offering her a warm hug before she departs. "Happy Birthday, Daddy. Goodbye, Fred," she offers kindly on her way to the stairs. "I hope I'll see you again."

"Until then," Fred agrees, raising a hand in departure.

Castle returns to the table after a quick detour to the kitchen counter to retrieve the bottle of wine to top off Fred's glass. Then, with a contented sigh, he sinks back into his chair.

"Dinner was wonderful, Rick," Fred offers with her own tone of contentment. "And your daughter is a delight. As shocking as I find this, you weren't exaggerating about her in your stories."

Castle beams, always happy to hear praise for his daughter, though his look twists a bit as he looks down to guide his hand to his empty wineglass. "Sorry about the rough start," he apologizes. "I'm still glad we kept this low-key, but Alexis was a little colder at the outset than I expected."

"She was lovely," Fred says resolutely. "Don't you give that girl any trouble."

"She's always lovely," he agrees, "but she was lovelier as the evening went on."

"If she was," Fred says leadingly, still not willing to accept his premise, "why do you suppose she'd act that way?"

"I've only spoken to her about you being a friend," he replies, watching the light reflect off his glass. "I never said anything about romance, but she probably made her own assumptions anyway. So, you got the gatekeeper treatment when dinner started."

"You want to know one of the reasons I prefer women, Rick?" she asks rhetorically, laughing at the expression on his face as he tries to squelch his irreverent replies. "It's because men are _so_ clueless," she says with a laugh as she reaches out and taps his cheek. "I wasn't getting the gatekeeper treatment because I was a potential love interest," she says while pinning Castle with a look. "I got the treatment because I was the _wrong_ love interest."

At this pronouncement, Castle lets his head fall as he huffs out a breath. Moving his wineglass into both hands and staring into it as if it could foretell the future, Castle admits that she's probably right. "She's always liked Beckett, always hoped that we'd end up together. It's made this whole situation even more difficult."

"I'm sorry, Rick," Fred says remorsefully as she reaches out and pulls a hand away from his glass to clasp it in hers. "Forget about this topic. I shouldn't have brought it up."

"No, it's fine," Castle denies, though his tone is less than convincing. "It's not just about Beckett. While she was never comfortable about the safety risks that went along with shadowing Homicide detectives, she liked the discipline and maturity that my time there helped foster."

" _Discipline and maturity_?" Fred parrots back. "Granted, I didn't get to see the before model, but if this is the after model, you must've been quite a piece of work back in the day!"

"You saw what's online," Castle confesses with a smile that might contain as much pride as shame, "it's not _all_ fabrications," he admits with a laugh. "I warned you, back on the night we met, that I've gone more than a little wild in the past."

Raising her hands to concede the point, Fred tries to get back to the thread of the conversation that led them here. "So, what? Alexis is worried that you'll revert now that you're away from the NYPD?"

"Hell, _I'm_ worried about that," Castle replies earnestly, "and she's usually more attuned to these issues than I am. So, yes, I think she's worried about me. And she's not too happy with what I've used to fill the gap."

"How's that going, by the way?" Fred asks. "Any better since they corralled you for the tattoo?"

"It's fine," Castle replies, though his heart isn't in it and Fred calls him out with a look. "It's just frustrating. I'm supposed to be a full member of the crew but they're sheltering me, leaving me in reserve unless they have to use me. I get access, and I see a day in the life, but I feel more like an embedded member of the press than a participant."

"Exaggerate much?" Fred asks with a raised brow.

"Maybe a little," he admits with a huff at being caught out again. "But I do think I wouldn't have seen much action if we hadn't been so busy. My school days are long behind me, but it feels like I'm the kid being picked last for dodgeball. They won't even let me drive!"

"That's probably just a public safety decision, right?" Fred teases, trying to raise his spirits.

"Hey!" Castle objects in mock offense. "I'm an excellent driver. Why does everyone always assume I'd be a menace on the roads?"

"Your motorcycle hardly instills confidence, Rick," Fred sasses back with an eye roll, happy that Castle seems to be getting more animated.

"I enjoy the bike far more than I expected, even though I've only been riding it for a few weeks," he answers. "But I've got cars, too, and I drive them well, thank you very much."

"Are they as run down as your bike?" Fred asks with a moue of distaste. "Is this where your Studebaker comment came from?"

"I'm fixing up the motorcycle, which I bought like that. My cars are very nice. You'll see when I give you a ride home," he promises, looking altogether too confident for Fred's taste.

"Which should be soon, I'm afraid," she sighs as she looks at the time on her phone, "if you're good to drive," she says while pointing at his empty wine glass.

"I held myself to one small glass," he replies. "Going to try to write tonight, so I need a clear head."

"Really? That's great!" Fred beams, ecstatic to hear that he's picking up his pen. "We should go," she prompts, fearful that any delay will dampen his enthusiasm. "There's one more thing I want to talk about, but let's do it on the drive."

With a nod, Castle rises and holds a hand out for Fred. Escorting her down to the lobby, Eduardo calls him over before he can call the elevator for the parking garage. Castle keeps up a constant line of chatter even as he collects a delivery from Eduardo, guides Fred to the parking garage, and starts leading her through the parked cars. Seeing his motorcycle, Fred takes a look at the car next to it and gives an impressed nod.

"'s that your car, Rick?" she asks while looking at the silver Mercedes. "Very nice. Very tasteful. I was afraid you were going to lead me to some ridiculous machine fueled by testosterone and feelings of inadequacy."

"Yes, that's my car," Castle replies, pressing a button on his fob to lock the doors of the already locked Mercedes so that the tail lights flash in affirmation. "But we're taking my other car," he says with a suppressed smile as he walks past the silver sedan to start pulling the dust cover off a vehicle that crouches closer to the ground.

Fred's cheeks match the shade of the car that's revealed as Castle tugs off the cover. "Oh, no," she groans as the Ferrari is revealed, regretting her glib words. "You can't be serious."

"Of course not," he replies while continuing to remove the cover. "If I was, we'd take the motorcycle," he says while rolling his eyes and pointing to his bike, "and it'd fly."

In her embarrassed and slightly inebriated state, it takes Fred a moment to understand his joking reference, but she guffaws when it dawns on her. "New rule," she gasps as she stops giggling. "If I'm going to drink, you have to, too," she says, cocking her head at the odd sound of the "to, too" in her comment. Shaking it off, she tries to explain. "It's hard enough to keep up with your humor sometimes, and – strangely – it turns out that being drunk doesn't help."

"No deal," Castle laughs as he folds up the cover and steps to the rear of the car to place it within the shoebox-sized trunk, placing the package received from Eduardo beside it. Taking Fred's arm to escort her to the passenger door, he explains. "If I were drunk, I couldn't drive you home in my failure-mobile."

Spinning in place and knocking her forehead against his chest, Fred laughs again. "Sorry, sorry! My mouth gets away from me sometimes."

"Don't worry," Castle assures her with a chuckle as he gives her a quick hug before opening the car door. "You know one of the things I like best about you, Fred?" he asks before closing the door for her, moving around to the driver's seat before finishing his though. "I like that when we hang out, I'm not the only one who might occasionally find a foot in my mouth."

"It's no fun to dine alone," Fred agrees with a grin.

"Exactly," Castle smiles in return before twisting the key in the ignition.

Fred's eyebrows raise as the low rumble of the throaty engine shakes the car awake. Castle recognizes her surprise and waggles his eyebrows. "Not so bad, eh?" he asks as he backs them out of the space and prowls toward the exit.

"It's like riding a tiger," she admits in a surprised tone. Then, noticing Castle smirk, she rolls her eyes. "Shut up. Drunk," she explains with a huff as she points to herself, which makes him laugh again.

The first few minutes of their drive is quiet, as Fred leans back in the plush leather finery and enjoys the ride. Castle pulls her out of it, of course, as he laughs after they've stopped at the snarled intersection of 6th Avenue and Bleeker Street. "There!" he says while the young men who'd been using the cross-walk finally stumble back onto the sidewalk after having been rendered nearly immobile by the sight of Fred in the sports car. "All refueled. Or does it only work on _my_ feelings of inadequacy?"

"Apparently smugness works, too," she answers with a cross look, before laughing herself. "Anyway," she says, drawing out the three syllables to stretch all the way through the intersection, "I wanted to thank you, Rick, even with all your teasing."

"Thank me for what?" he asks. "Dinner was great. It was fun to have you over."

"Not for that," Fred says with a shake of her head. "Well, not just for that. The party," she says, getting back on track. "We're basically ready to go, just have the little details now that we would've had if the Clairborne mess never happened."

"Excellent," Castle replies happily as he guides them through the evening traffic. "I'm looking forward to it."

"I'm looking forward to it being _done_ ," she admits frankly, "but yes," she adds as she sees his head turning her way, "I'll let you pull me out for at least one dance – that was your birthday wish, right?"

Nodding in confirmation and satisfaction, Castle pushes on the next part of the planning. "Is your LA trip set, then? You're going out right afterward so that news of this stunning success will still be ringing in their ears, right?"

"No," she laughs. "I'll head out about a week after. I need some time to rest, and the best comments will come from clients, which take some time to spread. Although…," she draws out, pausing to tease him.

Huffing in exasperation, he refuses to look her way, instead using a hand to gesture her to get on with it.

"My bosses at Aegis know something's up," she confesses. "They're thrilled beyond belief that our event plans adjusted so quickly. Which is all thanks to you."

"Nah," Castle denies. "I just helped speed things up. Just put two friends together so they could help each other out. You would've done fine without me."

"Stop it," Fred says seriously, shaking her head. "At the very least you saved me a ton of stress, and you might've saved the whole event."

Castle laughs in response. "That's me," he chuckles, "I make your life easier in some ways and more exasperating in other. I'm like the IRS," he laughs as he pushes the analogy probably too far, "except I collect stress instead of money. Then I return it in other ways, some appreciated and some not."

"You can try to joke your way out of this," Fred replies, "but it won't work. You were a godsend, Rick. So, stop kidding around and just let me thank you."

Looking slightly abashed, Castle settles down. "If I helped at all," he says quietly, "it's not as much as you deserved. Not as much as you've helped me."

"Better," Fred praises, happy that Castle's stopped his defensive joking, "but still nonsense."

"What did you mean," Castle asks, using diversion rather than humor, "when you said your bosses know something's going on?"

Remaining silent until Castle looks her way, Fred sends him a cross look to let him know that she's aware that he avoided accepting thanks again. "I meant that they're already full of praise about the party and it hasn't even happened yet. Makes me wonder if they know I'm thinking about leaving."

"Would you stay," Castle asks, "if they made a new pitch, offered you more money or a promotion?" When Fred hesitates before answering, he's not sure if it's because she's unsure or if she's wary of hurting his feelings. "A golden collar chafes at least as much as a leather one," he offers to spur a reaction.

"I know," she says quietly. "I think I need a new start," she confesses.

"Good," Castle replies with a nod. Noticing her surprised look, he chuckles. "I'll miss you, don't get me wrong, but you should do what makes you happy. Besides, it's not like LA's that far away. Just make sure you're not neighbors with Meredith and I'll be happy to visit."

"Really?" Fred asks, a playful gleam returning. "Damn. I was hoping you'd introduce us. I figure if I like you, then maybe she and I would hit it off…"

"You've obviously been drinking," Castle replies, now searching for a change of topic. "And I like you too much to even imagine the possibility of you with Meredith."

* * *

A/N: I survived, so thanks for the good wishes on last week's fun. I'm farther along in writing than what's been posted, but as friends warned me, my writing during recovery turned out to be pretty trippy – I'm not sure how much I'll be able to salvage. I'm posting this chapter a little early to spur my efforts, but it'll draw down my reserve. With any luck I can keep a buffer to allow at least weekly postings.

Back in chapter one, someone suggested that I break up the chapters to make them smaller. That didn't really appeal to me, as I like the one chapter per story-week approach. But some of the later chapters are getting pretty long. I might play with the weekends (whether they count for one week or the next) to balance things out, or I might just have to break down and split a week (or, maybe, I should just write less). I'll figure it out.

Finally, for those who've asked: the last Friday in April 2011 falls in Week Nine (four weeks after Castle's birthday). But they might see each other again before then…


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional.

* * *

 **Week Six**

"Hey Beckett," Esposito calls out from his desk. "Check out the _Ledger's_ website."

"Working hard, then, Espo?" she replies, shaking her head. Seriously, if they focused on their paperwork, it'd be done before lunch. But the attention that helps her team be so effective in the field seems to flee entirely when they sit down to attend to the paperwork. If the boys are already surfing the internet, they'll be lucky to finish before clocking out tonight. And that's if they're not distracted by a new case.

"Just checking the odds on tonight's game. Butler is _totally_ gonna win. Right, honeymilk?" Esposito replies, clapping his hands and rubbing them together in anticipation of the bet he already considers won.

"Nah," Ryan replies, trying to annoy his partner. "They're gonna get Duked again."

Esposito's growl in reply makes Beckett laugh. "You seem to be in a good mood, Espo. Your bracket must be looking pretty good then?" she asks as she pulls up a browser and points at the Ledger's homepage. The reminder of his annual sub-par performance seems to have done the trick and redirected Esposito back to his paperwork, or at least away from college basketball.

Interminable IT problems continue to plague the precinct as the techs continue their battle to cobble together a reliable network with cast-off, outdated, and hand-me-down equipment. The system is limping more than usual today, so it takes a moment for the webpage to load, but the headline is terse, big, and bold: "DA Denies Trysts, Harassment."

As the page resolves and Beckett clicks the link on the main story, her sense of anticipation grows. _This_ is the way to start the week. After another weekend spent in quiet contemplation, she's starting to develop a plan. She knows what she wants, now it's just time to start planning intentional steps forward. And the foundering of the DA's political aspirations will remove what she hopes is the primary barrier for one of those goals – Castle's return to the precinct.

Her feeling of schadenfreude increasing as she reads through the article, her wide smile doesn't distract her from distilling the key elements of the story: inappropriate relations with two staffers who've come forward so far. The DA office's terrible record at retaining female talent, which was previously justified by an inability to compete with the wages offered by the private sector, now seems far more sinister. Already, one anonymous attorney has spoken about the atmosphere created and fostered by DA Turner, and her statement paints him more as the primary architect of a toxic environment than the lone perpetrator.

How odd, she thinks, that had her mother not been killed, she might've found herself dealing with this nonsense firsthand.

Beckett shakes her head when she reaches the third paragraph, which includes the sexting allegations as well as the transmission of unwanted photos. Wondering again at the hubris, Beckett can't help but reflect on Montgomery's comment from last week. How many cases has the DA tried where electronic evidence damned the defendant? And yet here he is, texting and sending inappropriate pictures. She wouldn't believe it possible if it hadn't happened to so many others. At least the DA's last name differs from that of the Representative from New York's 9th congressional district – just imagine the salacious jokes at that would otherwise result.

The _Ledger_ is clearly out for blood, as Turner's defense isn't even mentioned until the fourth paragraph, and the journalist has done nothing to make it sound more credible. Misunderstandings. Jealous lies. "Mistyped addresses" – really! And, of course, the allegation that this is all a smear campaign dreamed up by his unnamed rivals, which everyone should ignore lest it distract the DA from his important job of prosecuting criminals (at least the ones outside of his office). It's hard to see how Turner was a credible threat in the mayoral race with skeletons like these and such pedestrian talking points behind which to hide them. Perhaps his speechwriter has already abandoned the campaign.

But Turner is vowing to fight on, to use this "false allegation" as a platform on which to fight crime from the DA's office and then City Hall. Montgomery was right – Turner's too proud, or too delusional, to realize what this means for his political aspirations. It looks like he's settling in for a prolonged fight.

"Enjoying the read?" she hears from behind her, as if thinking about her captain summoned Montgomery. "I imagine Weldon's getting a good chuckle out of it," he says, his own smile showing his thoughts clearly.

"You think it's true, Captain?" Esposito asks, perking up from his desk.

"What I think," Montgomery replies with a stern tone of voice, "is that we're all about to get buried in work. You know what happens next – the DA's gonna push on all fronts so that the _strong performance of his office_ distracts from his current problems. Our phones are going to start ringing off the hook. _So_ ," he says with finality, "if you want any chance of watching tonight's big game, your paperwork – _all of it_ – had better be filed before you otherwise think you'd leave."

Gulping visibly, Beckett's teammates spin toward their desks and set to work. Montgomery catches Beckett's smug smile, raising his brows at her in challenge to her own state of readiness. Chagrined, she turns to her files.

"I'm going to spread the word," Montgomery announces in a loud voice. "It's not just Homicide that'll get calls from the DA's office." Then, in a tone meant just for her, he continues. "And then I've got an interesting meeting to prep for," he says while catching her eye. "You did your part, now it's time for me to do mine."

* * *

"You sold me out, you son of a bitch," Turner growls as he falls into the booth across from Montgomery. "Don't think I don't know you're behind all this – the electronic fingerprints point right back to your precinct."

"That's funny," Montgomery says slowly, letting the DA see that he's completely unperturbed by the charges. "I thought _you_ were behind all this. You and your inability to comport yourself like a decent human being."

Turner's about to snarl something in reply when he catches himself and slams his mouth shut. "Are you wired?" he asks, to which Montgomery replies in the negative.

"Am I under investigation?" the DA follows up.

"The media certainly thinks so," Montgomery suggests. Then, to hasten things along, he rolls out the line that he expects to repeat often during their meeting. "Neither I nor the NYPD is engaged in any investigation of you or your campaign," Montgomery says formally, making it clear through his monotone delivery that he's parroting an official line.

Seemingly satisfied that he's not being entrapped, the DA puts an odd device on the table between them. Montgomery figures it's some kind of white-noise generator, a measure to protect against surveillance. Just as well – he'd picked this place because the ambient noise would make recording difficult. He's got more interest in avoiding recordings than does the DA.

"Where's my beer?" Turner asks petulantly, eyeing up the cold mug around which Montgomery's hand is curled.

"Bar's over there," Montgomery notes with a jerk of his thumb. "Massa."

"Is that what this is about?" Turner charges, anger flaring up again. "You and Weldon looking out for each other? Fightin' whitey and sticking it to _the man_? Well, guess what? I'm not going down."

"How in the hell did you get to be the DA," Montgomery asks, outwardly maintaining his sense of calm while continuing his effort to rile and confuse Turner, "being so damned stupid? You're not going down? You're already six feet under."

"Says you," Turner spits back, his hand unconsciously grasping for a drink that he still hasn't ordered. "I've got enough to take down your boss, and after Weldon's gone I can deal with you."

"Turner," Montgomery replies in a tone of pity that's accentuated by the slow shake of his head, "if I was doing this for Weldon, you never would've seen me coming."

These twin "confessions" – that Montgomery is, indeed, digging up dirt on the DA and that he'd do it even more effectively at Weldon's request – knock the DA back into his seat. As he struggles to make sense of what he heard, Montgomery takes pity on him and signals the bartender for the double boilermaker he'd already ordered for the DA, despite his earlier comment.

"Explain," Turner commands as the sound of the mug hitting the table knocks him out of his ruminations, though it sounds like a request.

" _This_ is why you could never be mayor," Montgomery starts, fanning the embers of Turner's anger and prompting an enormous gulp from the mug. "You should've already figured this out, and you sure as hell shouldn't need an explanation from me. The people you're running against have their entire careers mapped out and you haven't even thought beyond the next step."

"So, who's pointed you at me, then?" Turner challenges. "Some up-and-comer? It's that jackass union president, isn't it?"

"Think, idiot," Montgomery chastises, his voice firing up for the first time. "Who could compel a hard look at you and Weldon? It sure as hell isn't someone down the food chain. You're thinking about this the wrong way."

"Wait," Turner replies, holding up a palm as he swallows the bait Montgomery laid before him. "You're investigating Weldon, too?"

"Neither I nor the NYPD is engaged in any investigation of you or your campaign," Montgomery repeats the party line, again making it clear that he doesn't believe a word of it.

"Forget the bullshit," Turner says with an expansive wave of his hand. "Who's behind this?" he demands.

But Montgomery won't be commanded or bullied. Sitting calmly in his seat with mug still in hand, he takes a slow drink before seeming to puzzle over Turner's question. "Who could prompt an investigation of the Mayor and the DA?" Montgomery ponders. "Who would be threatened by the political rise of new challengers?"

"An incumbent, then," Turner murmurs, proud of his deduction and taking another great swallow of alcohol as a reward. "But who?"

"Who knows?" Montgomery replies with a shrug. "It'd have to be someone with connections, someone who knows how City politics work," he speculates, taking another drink and hiding his smile when the motion prompts Turner to do the same. "Probably someone familiar with the workings of the DA's office, too."

Turner slumps back in his seat, thinking furiously. Either the man's more of a lightweight than expected, Montgomery thinks, or he's even less politically astute than feared. Or perhaps even more naïve, Montgomery wonders, thinking that he could dive into an enticing political pool that wasn't already infested with sharks.

Montgomery's just starting to wonder if he needs to lay out more breadcrumbs, or maybe start spelling the name, when the fog clears from Turner's eyes. Looking sharply at Montgomery, Turner leans in, drawing Montgomery forward with his intensity. "It's Bracken, isn't it?" he whispers, hissing so much that Montgomery can feel the beer-soaked breeze on his cheeks.

"Neither I nor the NYPD is can be compelled by a senator to conduct an investigation of you or your campaign," Montgomery says speaking the absolute truth but trusting that his earlier uses of a similar phrase will convince Turner of the opposite.

"He thinks I can unseat him?" Turner wonders aloud, still whispering but now looking almost validated.

" _You_? Of course not," Montgomery pokes again, back to stoking Turner's anger. "He's afraid of Weldon challenging his seat. He's afraid you'll figure out what he did while he was in the DA's office. Why do you think he's trying to tarnish your whole group instead of just you?"

"What do you mean?" Turner asks in confusion. "What did he do when he was an assistant DA?"

"How should I know?" Montgomery derides. "It's your office, not mine. All I know is there's something there, something about how he funded his campaign, that's got him nervous."

"So, if I figure it out," Turner extrapolates with difficulty, clearly letting his foggy brain run with grand visions of triumph, "I'd have leverage."

"Or a tombstone," Montgomery interjects, noting the immediate look of confusion and fear. "Don't you get it? You're playing in the big leagues. He's trying to ruin your career now, when you've got nothing. What do you think he'd do, who do you think he'd hire, if he thought you actually found something?"

"Bullshit," Turner replies, bravado failing to mask fear. "If this is something he'd kill to protect, you wouldn't be helping him."

"Neither I nor the NYPD is engaged in any investigation of you or your campaign," Montgomery says, yet again.

"Stop fucking saying that!" Turner whispers harshly. "We all know you're looking for something!"

This time it's Montgomery who leans forward, drawing Turner in with the lure of their shared jeopardy. "Maybe, but I'm no fool. There's only one way to deal with someone like Bracken," Montgomery whispers. "If I figure out his secret, I'm going straight to the press. My precinct will leak like a sieve. I'll put it in the goddamn signature file of every email that leaves the precinct. The only way to hold Bracken off is to make this public. I sit on it and I'm dead. But if it goes public, he's out of the picture and I can go back to actually doing my damned job."

Soliloquy delivered, Montgomery sinks back into his seat, leaning over his own drink. Carefully, he glances up to see if he's laid on the story too thick, made the hints too obvious, or scared Turner off. This whole meeting is for naught if Turner refuses to fight.

"You can try," Turner whispers harshly, still leaning forward. "But it's _my_ office. I've got the information somewhere. And I'm going to find it and cram it down that bastard's throat. He tried to ruin my career? Fuck him. I'll get the goods on him and bring him down myself. I'll turn his little scheme into the case that wins me the election. Then Bracken'll be in jail, Weldon'll be unemployed, and I can kick your sorry ass out."

"You can try," Montgomery repeats placidly. "I've outlasted DAs and mayors, even governors. But maybe you're right. Retirement's starting to look pretty good," he confesses, privately satisfied that he said at least one honest thing during this assignation.

* * *

"So, how's your boy doing?" Lanie asks as Beckett approaches her table at the small wine bar. An attentive waitress drift over as Beckett's still sitting down, disappearing in a blink to fill her order.

"He's okay, I guess," Beckett replies, dropping her elbows to the tabletop. "At least that's what Alexis says."

"Why does Alexis know about Josh?" Lanie asks with faux innocence, using her question to drive home an entirely unsubtle point about her friend's assumptions.

Nodding to acknowledge the touch, Beckett smiles gratefully at the waitress and takes a sip of wine before returning to Lanie's question. "There is no Josh. Not anymore."

Eyebrows raising in surprise, Lanie surveys her friend to note that aside from looking tired, she doesn't look particularly distraught. She might even look a little lighter, but it's hard to tell. "Your parents let you out of time out?"

Rolling her eyes, Beckett decides to volunteer an explanation rather than spar. "There was no more reason to wait, if there ever was. I've actually been trying to get hold of him for more than a week. I finally got through this morning. Well, this morning for me."

"How'd he take it?" Lanie asks, wondering about how that phone call went.

"He wasn't surprised," Beckett replies nonchalantly. "In fact, if I had to guess, I'd say that he was already acting as if we'd broken up."

"Do you mean he…"

"I don't know," Beckett shrugs. "Just a vibe I got from the conversation. We didn't talk that long."

"Yeah," Lanie answers with a shrewd look, "those kind of calls can cost a lot."

Marveling at her friend's uncharacteristic subtlety, Beckett can't help the small smile that forms on her cheeks. "They can, but this one didn't. In fact, I'd say it was free. Or maybe freeing."

"Speaking of free," Lanie replies with an upturned brow, "when are we heading to Florida?"

"What?" Beckett replies, caught short. "Why are we going to Florida?"

"Because you have tickets for a trip for two," Lanie reminds her friend. "And if Josh isn't around, then I'll happily take one for the team."

Beckett smiles in reply, then blushes. "Sorry, Lanie," she manages to whisper. "But I have other hopes for that trip."

" _That's right_ ," Lanie asks in a tone that shows her direct nature has returned to the fore, "if you spoke with Alexis, it sounds like Josh wasn't the only man you called today."

"He was, actually," Beckett corrects, pausing to take another small sip of wine. "Alexis called me."

"About…," Lanie prompts in exasperation when Beckett doesn't offer an explanation.

"She asked if we could meet to talk about colleges," Beckett replies with another small smile. "Stanford in particular, but also the process I went through when applying. She's spoken to Castle, of course, but his choices were a bit more constrained when he applied because of their financial situation back then."

"Something she doesn't need to worry about," Lanie notes. "That man'd spare no expense for his girl."

Beckett nods at this statement, since Castle's devotion to his daughter is apparent and requires no confirmation.

"Does that mean," Lanie asks leadingly, "you have an invitation to visit the loft?"

"No," Beckett answers quickly. "Well, yes, but I turned it down. We'll meet at a restaurant. Castle asked me to give him some space and I'll respect that. No more sneaking into his building."

"Wait a minute," Lanie commands with an upturned palm. "When did you sneak into his building?"

"Last week," Beckett replies with a blush. "I figured it was a safe time to drop off his birthday present at the security desk."

"Oh, damn! I totally forgot his birthday!" Lanie frets. Then, with a cross look, she smacks her friend in the shoulder. "Why didn't you remind me? Can we repurpose your gift to be from both of us?"

"You're horrible tonight," Beckett laughs. "What's with all the attempts at subterfuge? If you want to know what I got him, just ask."

"What did you get him?" Lanie replies immediately.

"None of your business," Beckett answers just as quickly, taking another drink. Her expression cracks under her friend's glare, smile and chuckle escaping despite her efforts. "I got him a book, obviously."

Looking confused, Lanie sits back. "I get that you're giving him some space," she starts, pursing her mouth, "but a book? I would've thought you'd want to give him something more personal, maybe something that would make him think of you fondly."

Beckett doesn't reply immediately, but her blush gives her away. But rather than tease or threaten, Lanie waits attentively for an explanation.

"I think it's a perfect gift for an author," Beckett confesses. "A first edition, first printing of _Live and Let Die_ , the second James Bond book," she says with a self-conscious shrug.

"Did you at least write something personal in it?" Lanie asks, wondering about her embarrassment.

"No! That book cost a fortune, I'd _never_ write in it," she replies quickly, aghast. "I wanted to get him one signed by Fleming, but I would've had to sell my bike," she continues, to Lanie's shock. "I did my writing in his birthday card, which I slipped into the book."

"Any grand declarations?" Lanie asks with a quirked brow.

"No," Beckett replies with an eye roll. "I don't think either of us are there yet. I just told him that I'm glad he didn't leave to write for Bond and thanked him for staying with me."

Lanie stares at her friend for a few moments before offering a quiet response. "I don't know, Kate. That sounds like a pretty grand declaration to me."

"Too late, probably," Beckett mumbles in reply.

"What's that?" Lanie picks up, as if she'd ever let a comment like that slip by.

"I think he's seeing someone," Beckett says with a shrug that fails to hide her concern.

"Why do you say that?" Lanie asks, and Beckett's so tied up in her own thoughts that she misses the odd look on her friend's face.

"The music," Beckett answers, as if that should be enough. "When I was on the phone with Alexis, there was music in the background when she went to ask him about going out this weekend."

"Is this a detective thing?" Lanie asks in confusion. "He was listening to music. So what?"

"Lanie," Beckett nearly groans, "it was Barry White."

Wondering if her friend started drinking before she arrived, Lanie pushes for an explanation. "And…"

"Oh, come on!" Beckett urges, waving her arms. "He's a middle aged white man and he was listening to Barry White. That can only mean one thing."

Lanie can't help but to laugh at her friend, who's tied into such knots that she might as well be reading tea leaves rather than liner notes. "Kate, that doesn't mean anything. Castle's a pretty happy guy. He was probably just getting his groove on."

"Exactly!" Beckett cries out. "That's what I'm afraid of."

"You're being ridiculous," Lanie objects with a shake of her head. "If I've ever met anyone who has his own internal soundtrack, it's Castle," Lanie declares, and Beckett appears to agree. "Besides," she continues, her tone growing less jocular and more scolding, "you're also being unfair. Did you think he was just going to sit around waiting?"

"No," Beckett admits quietly. "I know I'm being unfair. That's something else I'm afraid of."

Her friend looks so morose that Lanie can't help but confess. "I don't think he's dating her," she says quietly.

"What?" Beckett looks up in shock. "Her who?"

"His blonde friend," Lanie says gently. "I saw them at the Haunt. I was going to say hi, but they looked like they were working on something pretty intensely. Plans of some kind – he had papers spread all over the place. But they worked like colleagues, not lo… not like they were dating."

"But we were colleagues," Beckett replies. "She'd have to be gay or married to ignore him."

"You managed," Lanie reminds her friend unhelpfully.

"Fine. Gay, married, or an emotionally-stunted, fearful idiot," Beckett corrects herself. "Thanks, Lanes, that makes me feel _so_ much better."

"Kate, I still think you're wrong," Lanie rallies. "I saw them and the way they interacted. I don't think you need to worry about her. But, look," she encourages, "you're seeing Alexis this weekend. Just ask her."

"Oh, that'll go over well," Beckett grouses facetiously in reply, looking at the hands clasped in her lap. "Hi Alexis, I ignored your father for years and only after he was gone and I was dating someone else did I realize I'm falling in love with him. Do you know if he's seeing anyone? Oh, and you should consider Northwestern. Yeah, she'd love that."

Expecting an immediate reply from her friend, Beckett looks up when she hears only silence. Lanie's stunned expression prompts her to replay what she just said, blushing furiously when she realizes what she confessed.

"Oh, Lanie, how did I make this all so complicated?"

* * *

"One dance, for old time's sake?" Castle hears from his side. He's not sure whether he's in the frying pan or the fire – he'd been trying to figure out a way to disengage from Skye ("with an e!") and Raine ("with a different e!"), lovely young women with a combined IQ of the salad he had at lunch, but he's not sure that dancing with his ex-wife is an improvement. He's been wary ever since he noticed that she arrived alone.

"Sure," he says smoothly, apologizing to Skye and Raine (where's Sleete?) for his departure. Leading her to the dance floor, he curses his luck again as the band downshifts into a slower-tempo song. With any luck, Gina won't remember…

"Isn't this the band that played at our party?" she asks as her hands meet behind his neck. Where's a good Catholic nun insisting on space between dance partners when you need one? "The one for your book release after-party?"

"It is," Castle confirms as he starts maneuvering them around the floor. "They're good. I've recommended them to a bunch of friends, so they were willing to do me a solid when I called a few weeks ago."

"Didn't your friend at Aegis already have a band lined up?" she asks in surprise. "I'd have thought the band would just switch to the new venue."

"There was some confusion," Castle explains as he sends her into a twirling spin that has the advantage of making her hands slide from his neck down his arms. "When the Clairborne closed, they thought the event was cancelled and booked a different gig. Winnie could've forced them to honor the contract, but we called Ray's group instead. Everybody wins," he says with a happy shrug. "The old band still has a gig and we've got better music."

"When did you become such a fixer?" Gina asks as they flit about the floor, impressing other couples with the fluidity and grace of their movements. When he just shrugs in response, Gina praises him anyway. "Well, it's a good look on you, Rick."

"I take it your good mood means that no one's trying to poach your authors?" Castle asks, shrewdly diverting Gina's attention to one of her preferred topics.

"We're fine. In fact, if I didn't know better, I'd say someone intervened," she says while throwing him a knowing look. "Not only have my authors not been approached, but no one's put the hard sell on me to use Aegis, even though I crashed this party."

"Just good luck," Castle says with a small smile. "Or maybe karma," he admits while looking like an impetuous child, leaving no doubt that he thinks the universe owes her some good luck after what he's put her through. When Gina's flat look tells him that she wants more of an answer, he confesses. "I might've suggested that you were more likely to be impressed by restraint than a sales pitch."

"Thank you, Rick," Gina replies, surprising him with a quick kiss to the cheek. His uncomfortable reaction makes her laugh. "Oh, so you're bashful now? These lips have kissed you other places and I don't remember blushing then."

"Gina…," Castle says as he slows, unwilling to continue at least their verbal dance.

"Sorry, couldn't resist," she says with a perched brow. "I forgot that you're 'just friends' with everyone these days."

"That's right," Castle readily agrees, happy to reinforce that point. "Just friends."

"Well," Gina drawls out, happy to have boxed him in, "if you're looking for friends, and you've proven yourself so charming at events like this, we should be talking about more promotional events of your own, Rick."

"There is _no way_ I'm talking shop tonight," Castle says resolutely. "I'm drinking, dancing with beautiful women, and enjoying myself – none of these things are helped by talking about professional responsibilities or promotional tours. So, not tonight," he repeats himself.

Gina looks like she's going to object, until she instead remains quiet. "Okay," she finally agrees softly, shocking her ex-husband. "We'll wait, see how things go after your current lark." She acts as if that's the end of the conversation, but Castle knows her well and recognizes the look that she's giving him now. "Actually, now that I think of it, you'll be free by Memorial Day, won't you? If you're looking for 'just a friend' to take to the beach house…"

* * *

"So, who's the blonde pounding vodka at my bar?" Maddie asks as Castle leads her out to the dance floor.

"She's my boss," he explains lightly. "My editor at Black Pawn."

"She looks like she's not exactly happy with you," she says as Castle chuckles. "You must be a difficult employee," Maddie says with an inquisitive look. "Or was she looking for a little workplace romance? She's been watching you all night and was _not_ happy about the attention you've received. I thought she was going to go snap those models in half."

"Well," Castle fesses up, "in addition to being my boss, she's also my ex-wife," he shrugs.

Maddie laughs for a few moments until she realizes that he's not joking. " _Seriously_? Your ex-wife is here? And you work with her? Are you crazy?"

"Often," Castle replies with another laugh. "The situation certainly keeps me on my toes," he says while twirling them about, using fancy dance moves to accentuate his comment. As he'd hoped, Maddie's soon laughing and letting the topic shift. "So," he says to accelerate the move to safer conversations, "tonight seems to be going pretty well, right?"

"It's gone beautifully," Maddie agrees, looking at him happily. "This could be a very big deal for Q3, Rick. I've been chatting people up all night. If even a small handful of those contacts lead to anything…" she trails off, eyes bright with imagined possibilities. "And that doesn't even include the press we'll get tomorrow."

"I'm glad," Castle replies with a small, satisfied smile. "You deserve any success that results from tonight. You put on quite an event, Ms. Queller," he says formally, nodding at her and prompting a light blush. "But that reminds me – I owe you some money."

"No, Rick," Maddie disagrees. "I'm poised to launch Q3 into the upper echelon. If anything, I owe you."

"Hey, no welching," Castle complains in reply. "The whole reason we set up our secret little side account was so that there was a budget for the little things that'd push this party over the top. Those things weren't cheap and I said I've cover it."

"Do you seriously think you can be more stubborn than me?" Maddie asks with a challenging look. "You worked with Becks, I get it, but she's got nothing on me. You lose, Mr. Castle – I'm not charging you a dime."

"Half," Castle replies equably. "Let's split it. Say yes, then we can focus on dancing," he intimates with a low rumble and his best rakish smile. "Come on, Maddie," he whispers to her, " _share something with me_."

Taken aback by his sinful approach, Maddie's momentarily stunned. Then, she laughs at herself. "Oh, you must've tied Becks in knots," she chortles. "Fine," she relents. "Half."

"Left breast pocket," Castle says, surprising her. When she reaches in, using the opportunity to run a hand across the planes of his chest several times, she finds an envelope.

"Nice trick, Carnac," Maddie says with just a hint of annoyance. "What if I hadn't said anything and wanted the full amount?"

"That envelope's in a different pocket," Castle challenges with a raised brow, daring her.

"Damn," Maddie pouts. "That must be what I felt when I brushed against you earlier. And here I thought you were just glad to see me," she smirks.

"Oh, Maddie," Castle laments in return, "if I were that glad to see you, we wouldn't be able to dance this close together," he promises with a quick wink.

"You're incorrigible," Maddie laughs in reply. "I love it."

They are quiet for a bit after that, taking the opportunity to enjoy the dance floor. The event is close enough to its conclusion that Maddie can relax by a degree, trusting that there's not much that can go awry now that the food has been served, desserts mostly demolished, and the bars remain well-stocked, despite Gina's late assault. Castle, in turn, uses the opportunity to survey the guests, feeling a small sense of satisfaction as it looks like the event has gone well.

"So, about Kate," Maddie says gently, instantly shattering Castle's sense of calm.

"Maddie, I don't want to…"

"The thing about Kate is that in some important ways, she hasn't changed since we ran around together," Maddie explains, ignoring Castle's attempt to evade this conversation and using their dancing embrace to hold him tight. "I know we're not supposed to talk about what happened to her mom, but it hurt her. She's still a young woman in some ways."

If he can't avoid this conversation, Castle figures he can at least refuse to participate. Rather than look at Maddie, he decides to look up. Until the first thing he sees is Gina, with drink in hand, staring at him, which sends his face back down to where Maddie's dancing against him. Trapped.

"One thing I could always count on with Becks," Maddie says with eyes gone hazy in recollection. "She'd pick the wrong guy. Every time," she reinforces with a laugh. "At first, she played it off as a way to tweak her parents, and that was definitely a plus. I didn't complain, because I'd get the better end of the deal," she says while casting Castle a wicked look, accentuated by a hand that trails along his arm.

"Maddie," Castle interjects. "We can't…"

"Hush, Rick," Maddie interjects again, moving her hand to hold a finger against his lips to keep him from speaking. "I know things between us can't happen – that's one of the reasons it's so much fun to flirt with you," she says with an impish smile that easily matches anything in his arsenal. "Becks would always come between us, and that's not right. But I want you to give her a chance. I know you could leave with a companion tonight," she says, lifting a brow in case he tries to challenge her comment. "And maybe that's what you want or need. But don't do it to spite my friend, please. She might be an idiot, but I can't believe she'd be so stupid as to actually let you get away."

Looking up with him with wide eyes, Maddie decides it's time to let Castle speak. But, just to play a bit first, rather than pull her finger away from his lips, she lets it trail down, tracing a sinuous path over his chin and down his neck until coming to rest over his heart.

"She's made her choice, Maddie," Castle says in a low voice, heartbroken to find himself thinking about her again. Beckett's not here, has nothing to do with this event, which had been a rousing success up until this conversation. And yet now he's haunted by the specter of his foiled dreams even as he tries to wake.

"No," Maddie disagrees. When Castle won't look at her, she raises her hand again, this time cupping his cheek. "She's made the wrong choice. And as bad as Kate's been about finding the right partner, she's been very good about moving on from her mistakes," she shares, hoping to impart some hope. "You worry me, Rick. I can see the walls you're trying to build. Just give her one more chance. Please?"

His heart in a vice, Castle doesn't know how to answer. Years of breeding, his mother's constant instruction in how to be a gentleman, and his general nature tell him to relent to Maddie's request. But the last thing his heart needs is another round as Kate Beckett's heavy bag. Pushing against her hand as he looks away, he finds that the need to answer is a distant second to addressing a much more dire situation.

"Rick?" Maddie asks as she feels him stiffen and watches his jaw square.

"I'm sorry, Maddie," he says, barely getting a handle on his fury, "but I need to go."

* * *

"Hey, you still owe me a dance," Castle says loudly as he approaches the corner of the room, where a very drunk and very forward guest has sequestered Fred. She's fending off his advances, but even as Castle approaches he sees the bleary-eyed older man clamp a hand around her arm just above the elbow, trying to pull her to his side. The look of relief on her face reveals exactly how glad she is to see Castle.

"Hi, Rick," Fred replies with relief, trying again to tug her arm free. She's unsuccessful, but the motion turns the man slightly so that he finally notices Castle's approach. His story is apparent in a glimpse – an expensive suit dismissively worn, slightly unkempt due to the inebriation of its owner. The man himself looks small and mean, though refined – an executive used to getting his way, Castle thinks. But probably a client or someone important to Aegis, which is why Fred didn't just haul off and belt him.

"Hi, sis," he says as he approaches close and leans down to give her a peck on the cheek. "Introduce me to your friend quickly, before the band packs up. You can't let the evening end without a dance for your little brother."

"Little brother?" the man nearly squeaks as Castle looms over him, not having backed away after his greeting kiss. "I didn't know you had a brother," he says, dumbly.

"Rick, this is Edward Thwaitt, CFO of…"

"Arctic Jungle, the IT solutions provider," Castle finishes smoothly, extending a hand so that Thwaitt has to release his grip on Fred's arm to shake hands with him. "You've got a fascinating business model, Mr. Thwaitt. Your wife was telling me all about it just a little earlier," he says while craning his neck to find the beleaguered Mrs. Thwaitt, for whom Castle feels more affection now that he's met the poor woman's excuse for a husband.

Thwaitt grimaces, either with the idea of his wife being called over to join them or by the crushing grip in which Castle holds his hand. Either way, he's happy to scuttle off as soon as his hand is released.

"Why do I suspect that planning this event isn't the most trying or distasteful part of your job?" Castle asks as he turns his attention back to Fred.

"Let's dance," she replies tersely. "We can talk there."

Extending an elbow, Castle offers her a courtly walk to the dance floor. The short walk allows them both a chance to calm themselves, to bask in the success of an event that's otherwise gone well.

"Thank you," Fred says as they blend in among the other dancing couples. "I don't like needing to be rescued, but I was running out of ways to put him off. Firm politics and client loyalty be damned, I was about ten seconds from screaming, kicking him, or both. Your solution was much preferred. Thanks, _little_ _brother_ ," she finishes with the first smile he's seen on her face since the encounter.

"Sorry about that," he chuckles. "I wasn't sure who he was or what he knew about you. Appearing as a jealous boyfriend might've started something your bosses wouldn't have appreciated, and if you'd told him your preferences it would've made it look like you were inventing reasons to avoid him. A family connection seemed like the most expedient, non-nuclear option," he chuckles again. "Besides, I always kind of wanted a sister."

"There's not enough women in your family already?" Fred asks, cuddling into his bulk to shake of the dregs of Thwaitt's creepiness.

"Now, maybe," he laughs. "But when I was young, I was often on my own," he says wistfully, recalling changing addresses, schools, and performance halls. "I always thought of a sister as a kind of portable friend, someone who wouldn't get left behind with every move. Someone who could've explained women to me."

"Sorry, Rick," Fred replies, some of her usual spark returning, "but the Sisterhood rules prevent sharing that kind of information. I'm already on probation for some of our earlier discussions."

"I knew it!" Castle crows. "My deepest conspiracy theory is confirmed! I can now die a happy man."

That comment gets him an unpleasant look and a slap to the chest. "Don't even joke about that. You take far too many risks to say things like that. I wouldn't even let you joke about that if you were an accountant, much less some crazy author who feels compelled to jump into risky situations in the name of _authenticity_ ," she growls.

"Sorry," Castle answers with contrition, kicking himself for being impolitic just when he was trying to soothe Fred. Deciding that changing gears would be safest, he maneuvers them around the dance floor while surveying the party.

"Looks like things are breaking up," he whispers to her. "I suppose you need to circulate see your guests out the door?"

"I do," Fred agrees, though she makes no move to depart. "Just one more song," she says like a teenager asking for one more hit of the snooze alarm. Learning from his recent mistake, Castle remains quiet, letting the swaying motion of their dance provide his friend with a chance to restore herself.

"Thanks, brother," she says as the next song ends, pulling him down for a quick kiss on the cheek. "Time to put this party to bed."

Castle follows her from the dance floor, watching as she engages so adroitly with the most important clients of her firm. While he's got his own goodbyes to which he must attend, Castle carefully ensures that he's never out of her sight, lest anyone else try to manhandle his friend.

"Richard Castle," he hears a man call from his left shortly after he's said goodnight to his publishing peers from Black Pawn. Turning, he sees a sandy-haired man with a radiant smile that displays his perfect teeth. Unlike Thwaitt, this attendee remains immaculately put together, looking more like he just arrived than someone who'd been drinking, dancing, and socializing for four hours.

"Adam Asher," he introduces himself with an outstretched hand, "Managing Director at Aegis. I just wanted to thank you for your help with our event. When Winnie said that she had a friend helping out after the disaster with our last venue, I was happy to have any help we could get. Then I find out it's a famous author who not only finds us a new location, but invites his friends and spends time himself lavishing attention on our guests. You're a lifesaver, Mr. Castle."

"You've got the wrong guy," Castle reacts, slurring his words just a touch. "I was just looking for a good party and Winnie took pity on me. The models were a nice bonus!"

"Mr. Castle," Asher says as he leans in, "I appreciate the effort, but you can drop the act. I sell things to people who don't want to buy, and I'm very good at it. I can see through the motives and interests of every person in this room. Your playboy routine is a good one, but I don't buy it."

Giving his companion a look, Castle decides that he probably is pretty discerning. So, rather than feign ignorance or dissemble, he offers a small smile and a shrug.

"When I say every person," Asher continues after a nod in return, "I mean _every person_. I know why it was so important to Winnie that tonight go well," she says with a perched brow as both men turn to look at the woman in question. "Don't misunderstand me," he says when Castle starts to look cross. "I'm a big fan of hers and appreciate the motivations that might lure her west. But that doesn't mean I have to make it easy for her."

"Mr. Asher," Castle replies in an even tone, "I'm a big fan of Winnie's, too. That's why I helped in whatever small way I could this evening. And why I'll help in whatever way I can for whatever might follow."

"Please, call me AJ," Asher replies. "And let me back up, because you clearly don't trust my motives. Let's just say this: Winnie isn't the only one eyeing LA. Who says she'd need to leave the firm if she moved there? But keep that under your hat, okay? It's a fierce enough business without our competitors knowing our hopes and aspirations."

Nodding, Castle extends his hand again. "Thanks for the clarification, AJ. Please, call me Rick." After another handshake, Asher turns, so that he and Castle are standing next to each other, surveying the guests as they start to head toward the exit. Fred catches sight of them, offering a laugh and a wave, before she goes back to bidding farewell to more Aegis clients.

"What a night," Asher says after a few moments. "I should be thanking our departing clients, so I'll take my leave. But, Rick?" he asks, turning his head to catch Castle's attention. "Any chance we could enlist you in next year's effort?"

"Depends," Castle answers with a smile. "If Winnie asks, I'm not sure I could say no."

"Fair enough," Asher says with a nod, recognizing the implication of Castle's statement. "Thanks again. It was a pleasure to meet you, Rick," he says while giving his hand yet another shake.

"Likewise, AJ," Castle says with a laugh, nodding to some clients who look like they could use some shepherding into a cab. With a rueful smile, Asher heads off in that direction.

"Brown-nosing with the boss?" Fred asks from his side, surprising him.

"You wouldn't believe where he asked me to put an autograph," Castle replies as if scandalized, pulling a delighted laugh from his friend while distracting her from the topic.

"I don't know, Rick," she says doubtfully. "I had time for a little more internet research on you. From what I read," she says primly, "I doubt that there're many places you haven't graced with a signature."

Blushing slightly, Castle still laughs. "Oh, vile calumnies! Astirred by wretched jealousy and blackest envy!"

"Quite a vigorous defense for someone who not only confessed to past wickedness but also a weakness for the fairer sex," she laughs in reply, nodding over her shoulder toward the knot of models near the door who trying to organize the next stage of the party, with several casting hopeful glances in their direction.

"So, it's time to shut this party down. A small group of preferred clients are heading over to a club. I was going to invite you along," Fred teases with a look over to the weather models, "but it looks like you might be getting a better offer."

"Please," Castle objects. "Better than spending time with my sister?" he asks while offering her an elbow, thinking that there's no way he's going to rest easy until he sees her to her door.

"Excellent," she replies, sliding an arm through his. "Let's go say goodbye to your friend Maddie, then we'll head out. Once we're in the car," she adds with a knowing look, "I'll look forward to hearing what you and AJ were talking about."

* * *

A/N: Another long chapter, but I didn't want to move anything around for this week. There are some adjustments coming up to balance things in Chapters 7, 8, and 9.

For those who are curious but don't want to do the internet search, the Representative from New York's 9th congressional district in 2011 was Anthony Weiner. His first scandal, which included the sexting references, broke in May 2011 (roughly a month after this chapter takes place), so there's a little bit of realistic confirmation that politicians can, indeed, be this stupid. Representative Weiner and I'd had a confrontation several months prior, in which I came off the worse. So, some of the emotions attributed to Beckett in this chapter (particularly the unseemly delight in watching the implosion of a political career and the disbelief about the hubris politicians can display even when their careers are mortally wounded) have a real foundation.

For those of you curious about what Castle's doing outside of the precinct, I expect that will be discovered within two weeks (our time, not story time).


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional.

* * *

 **Week Seven**

"I'm not entirely sure why I answered this call," Beckett nearly growls into the phone. It's late on a work-free weekend morning, one on which she knows she won't be called into the precinct as the boys are out enjoying their trip to Las Vegas. She'd planned to use the break to relax, clear her head, and do more thinking. Instead, treating herself to a coffee and pastry after yoga brought her face-to-face with the _Ledger's_ spread on the Aegis event, including pictures and speculation. She hasn't felt this way since high school, and it was the same perpetrator back then, too.

"You'll be glad you did, Becks," Maddie assures her from the other end of the line. "But maybe not over the phone. Are you at work? Can you meet me at that bistro?"

With a sigh, Beckett relents. Maddie always gives more away in person than she realizes, so meeting for a late lunch might be the best way to figure out what's going on. After speeding through an abbreviated shower routine, Beckett strolls into the café near her apartment to which she redirected Maddie to find her friend already at a table with drinks and food waiting.

"You look rough," Beckett says to begin as she takes a seat, wondering about her friend's baggy eyes.

"Late night," Maddie explains before taking another sip of a viscous, lurid green vegetable drink. "I kind of regret getting what I wished for," she says with a sigh before she notices Beckett's angry look. "The party," she quickly clarifies, lest Beckett think she's talking about Castle. "I've been trying to land a party like last night's for ages. Now that I've done one, I appreciate exactly how much work was involved. I didn't get home 'til 4:00."

"This was the Aegis event?" Beckett asks, recalling some of the details from the articles. "Congratulations. It sounds like it went well," Beckett says politely, trying to warm into the topic that most interests her.

"Look, Becks," Maddie says around a yawn, "I'd love to tease you and draw this out, but I'm just too tired. Can we just talk about Rick?"

"What's there to talk about?" Beckett replies, misinterpreting Maddie's lead in.

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe about how you let him go," she says with a roll of her eyes. "Or how I went to bat for you, tried to get you another chance."

"He told you what happened?" Beckett asks in alarm, wondering what Castle said.

Shaking her head, Maddie shows some disappointment in her friend. "Of course he didn't," she says in exasperation. "But he's just a man. His feelings were pretty obvious. When he called about booking Q3 for the party, I asked him if the two of you were looking for a venue," she explains while Beckett blushes and looks down. "His reaction told me everything I needed to know."

Beckett nods along for a moment before her attention finds a hand-hold. "Wait – why did Castle call about the party?"

"His friend's the one who did all the planning," Maddie explains, "but the place she was going to use closed unexpectedly, leaving them without a venue. So, Rick got us together and it all worked out."

"Is this his blonde friend?" Beckett asks, recalling Lanie's story about seeing Castle in the throes of planning something while at the Haunt with a friend.

"Winnie Keates," Maddie replies with a nod. "She's at Aegis. She's alright." Pulling out her own copy of the _Ledger_ , Maddie opens it to the page with the story and points to Winnie in a grainy group shot. It's not much help, since the picture is small. But it's the picture from the spread above that captures Beckett's attention again. Though the picture is uncaptioned, anyone who knows Castle was at the party would recognize his profile.

"Have a nice dance?" she asks, pointing to the shot of Castle and Maddie, the one that set off the rumors, where Maddie's tenderly cupping his cheek while leveling an intense stare.

"You wanna know what I was saying when this picture was taken?" Maddie asks, a little perturbed by her friend's chilly tone.

"Probably not," Beckett admits with a sniff.

"Then you'd be wrong. As usual," Maddie replies in a mix of tough love and teasing that only a friend can pull off. "This," she says while tracing their picture affectionately with her finger, "was right after he told me – and I agreed – that nothing could happen between us because of you," Maddie says with a challenging start. "Or maybe it was a little after that, when I was asking him to leave the party alone and to give you another chance."

"Oh," Beckett says, letting her head drop so that she can collect her thoughts and shut down the uncomfortable avenues she'd started to explore. Then, after taking a deep breath, she reaches across the table to grasp Maddie's hand. "I'm sorry," she says quietly. "Thank you."

Maddie gives her friend a tired smile, then squeezes her hand to accept her sentiments.

"So, did he?" Beckett asks in a low voice, catching a tired Maddie by surprise.

"Did he leave alone or did he agree to give you another chance?" Maddie asks for clarification, before forging ahead. "No," she answers honestly, holding onto the hand that her friend wants to tug back, "he didn't leave alone. Not from Q3, anyway. He went to an after-party with Winnie. But I don't think you have to worry about her. She called him _little brother_ and that's how he acts – protective and annoying, supportive and irreverent."

"Sounds like him," Beckett admits with a fond smile. "What about…"

"Another chance?" Maddie fills in the blank that Beckett had left hanging. "I'm afraid I didn't get an answer there."

"He wouldn't answer?" Beckett asks, trying to imagine a Castle pushed to the point of silence before remembering that's how he ended their last meeting.

"He was struggling, but then he was distracted by a guest who got aggressive with Winnie," she explains briefly, "so he left to intervene. I don't know what he said, but he defused the situation quickly."

"So, they're just friends?"

"I think so," Maddie confirms. "He helped her set up the party. When I asked him why he was helping her, he just said she was a friend who needed help, that she'd helped him, too. And just like he helped her with the unruly client, she quietly frustrated some of his ex-wife's maneuvers during the party."

" _What_?" Beckett rocks back in surprise. "Gina was there?

"Yeah," Maddie laughs. "I made him tell me the story. I didn't believe she was his ex-wife, then I didn't believe that they still worked together. What a mess," she says with another laugh.

"And she was interested in him?" Beckett asks, surprised to find that this scab still hasn't healed as she picks at it.

"She was trying to be all coy about it, but yeah," Maddie smirks, "she couldn't keep her eyes off him. He danced with her once, and from the way she attacked my bar afterwards, I don't think it went particularly well for her."

" _Good_ ," Beckett grumbles, getting a raised eyebrow from her friend. "Let me tell you about Gina," she explains with a deep breath. "She's a part of this whole mess."

* * *

"Comfort food?" Alexis asks as she bounces into place in the booth, looking around with a smile.

"Yep," Beckett answers with a smile. "The best burgers and milkshakes in the city. Even your dad agrees."

"Now that you mention it, I think I have heard him talk about this place," Alexis smiles as she picks up a menu. "He takes his milkshakes very seriously. Now more than ever."

"Oh?" Beckett asks, not bothering to even go through the pretense of lifting the menu. "Don't tell me he's on that crazy ice cream diet he read about."

"No," Alexis laughs, "though he did push for that at home. Even Grams thought it was a terrible idea, and it would've given her an excuse not to cook. He still pouts about being outvoted."

"Hmmm," Beckett shakes her head facetiously, "I just can't picture that."

After sharing Beckett's laughter, Alexis explains. "He's working out _a lot_. Like a crazy amount, both at work and when he's at home. So, he's eating a lot, too. It's great for him, but it's kind of rough for the rest of us to have all these temptations around when we're not exercising as much as he is."

"He told me he's running, or trying to," Beckett replies, remembering their last encounter at the precinct. "Running burns a ton of calories."

"He's running, but only a bit," Alexis says as she lowers her menu. "It's mostly weights. His new job…" Alexis trails off, blushing. "I guess I shouldn't talk about that." She looks like she's going to drop this topic altogether, until one last comment slips out. "Being stronger helps him, and he promised me he'd be careful."

Beckett nods, barely reining in her natural impulse to investigate. Instead, she raises her hands. "I promised your dad that I wouldn't look into what he's doing," she says, making it clear that she's honoring his request. "But Martha promised she'd call if he needs any help. You know you can, too, right?"

"I know," Alexis replies shyly. "Thank you."

"Of course," Beckett smiles happily. "But for now, let's talk about a different kind of help. Tell me what's up on the college front."

Over the next hour, Alexis outlines her college application plans, including potential schools, summer coursework options, standardized test preparation programs, admissions consultants, and the strategic nexus between her application essays and the areas of focus in her recommendation letters. On the whole, her plan is more meticulously detailed and organized than a typical homicide casefile.

Still, Beckett manages to offer some useful insights, especially on how to overcome the geographic bias in Stanford's admissions review process. But they also expand the set of schools at which Alexis will take a look. Castle's daughter laughs, imagining her father's reaction to adding a few more stops on the college tour they're planning for the summer. True to her nature, Alexis already has that trip largely planned, having co-opted Paula's participation to stick Castle at local book signings where Alexis thinks a little alone time might serve her well.

"Just one more question," Alexis sighs happily as she surveys her notes and the remnants of their dinner on the table. Tapping a pen against her chin as she thinks, her question catches Beckett by surprise when she finally speaks. "What's going on with you and dad?"

Beckett has the embarrassing suspicion that she looks like one of her perps right now, one of those sorry fools who think they're going to the precinct for an informational interview before they find themselves in interrogation. Faced with a frontal assault from Alexis, Beckett freezes up, finally mumbling "Nothing good."

"What does that mean?" Alexis presses, just as Beckett would if she were asking the questions.

"It means," Beckett replies, wondering if she should ask for a pen and paper to draft her confession, "that I broke your dad's heart and he's asked me to stay away from him while he tries to move on," she says as she lowers her head. "That's why we're not meeting at the loft, why I went through all those lame excuses to meet here instead."

When Alexis doesn't reply, Beckett looks up to gauge the reaction to her admissions. The young woman looks pensive, not angry, as if she's trying to work out a puzzle. Deciding that patience will serve her best, Beckett waits, her fingernails biting into her palms as she fists her hands in her lap.

"You don't sound happy about this," Alexis offers.

Suddenly understanding at least part of Alexis' reticence, Beckett clarifies her feelings, as much as she can. "I'm miserable about it," she admits. "I miss him, Alexis. I want him back, want us to be more," she admits, blushing. "And I'm worried that his time away is going to make it that much more difficult for me to make amends. Make it that much easier for him to see through me."

Alexis takes some long moments to think about Beckett's response. "I'm not sure what I'm supposed to say," Alexis replies slowly. "You know I like you. And I like how dad changed when he was spending time with you. I always hoped that the two of you would get together," she admits with a blush.

"But he's my dad. The most important person in my life," Alexis says resolutely. "I want to protect him like he's protected me. So, what do I do, Kate?" Alexis asks honestly. "Do I remind you that my dad has _always_ seen through you, and liked what he saw? Do I remind you that my dad's chronically unable to hold a grudge? I'd like to see the two of you together, but not if it's going to hurt him, not if his forgiving nature is going to tee up his heart for another pounding. So," she repeats herself, "what do I do, Kate?"

Though she'd love an ally, someone who could help her make amends and maybe even build a stronger relationship with Castle, Beckett knows the answer to Alexis' question and that's not it. The right answer requires faith and hope, so she focuses on those feelings while she finds her words.

"You protect your father," she answers, meeting Alexis' eyes. "You keep his heart safe and you help him laugh. You play laser tag, you gang up with Martha to outvote his dinner choices, and you remind him to be safe. You love him, Alexis," she says with a hitch in her voice. "Just as you always have. Everything else will sort itself out."

Alexis nods, still pensive but looking lighter, happier. "That sounds like good advice," she says after some thought. "Maybe," she says with a pause, "maybe I could also remind him how he got this far, remind him to treasure, and forgive, old friends."

Beckett blushes and again looks down, humbled by the young woman who seems to handle emotional conversations so much better than she does. "If you think that's okay," Beckett replies, looking up again, "I'd really appreciate it."

Alexis nods again, seeing whatever it was she was looking for in Beckett's face. "I miss laser tag," she admits with a smile. "He's been so busy lately, and when he's not busy, he's often in the gym or sleeping."

"And writing, I imagine," Beckett adds, picturing Castle perched before his laptop in his office, weaving intricate plotlines, wry humor, and sinful situations into a wonderful story.

"No, not really," Alexis answers, surprising Beckett, "not since he stopped at the NYPD. He's playing the piano again. It's something he does when he's not writing, usually when he's having trouble working out plotlines or dialog. I'm sure it's fine, though," Alexis says in response to Beckett's look of concern, "Gina hasn't been harassing him, so he must not be too far behind on his deadlines."

The second reference to Gina this weekend jars Beckett, but it's still better than hearing that she's been visiting him at the loft. Actually, Beckett thinks, since they're on the topic and Alexis seems amenable, she might as well follow Lanie's advice.

"Is he seeing anyone?" she asks of Castle's daughter, her nerves apparent in the blunt question that could've used a segue that was apparent to Alexis.

"No," Castle's daughter answers, apparently following Beckett's line of thought from the Gina reference. "I thought he was, but they're just friends."

"His friend Winnie?" Beckett follows up, unable to keep her mouth shut now that they're tripping down this conversational lane.

Alexis looks confused for a moment before her expression clears and she laughs. "Sorry," she says with a smile. "Yes, Winnie. But dad calls her Fred. Some joke they have, I think. And it makes sense…," she starts to trail off.

"It makes sense?" Beckett asks, noticing Alexis' blush and wondering for a moment about the source of her embarrassment. The light bulb illuminates only seconds later, as Beckett recalls her conversation with Lanie, the one in which she speculated about how a woman might avoid Castle's charm. "Oh, thank God," she hears herself murmur before she blushes, too.

"Yeah," Alexis says with a bashful laugh. "I thought he was dating Fred and was a little upset that it wasn't, well, you," she confesses with a shrug. "So, I was a little quiet when she came over for dad's birthday dinner. But things sorted out easily after that. She's actually really cool."

"That's what my friend Maddie said, too," Beckett agrees, happy that this new information fills in some of the blanks from Maddie's stories about the Aegis party at Q3.

The two women sit in silence for a few moments, each thinking about the conversation, until they're startled by the arrival of their waitress, who clears the table and leaves the bill behind.

"Kate, no," Alexis objects after Beckett's reflexes prove far quicker. "I invited you out to ask your advice. I should pay."

"Alexis," Beckett says while shaking her head, "your advice was worth so much more than mine," she says as she hands her credit card to the passing waitress. "You don't know how bleak things have looked for the past couple months. Actually, longer. For the first time in a long while, I've got hope."

"I'm glad, Kate," Alexis replies. "But you need to be careful. Dad can be a little stubborn. Just because you and I are on the same page doesn't mean that he'll be willing to talk to you."

"I know," Beckett says with a nod. "I'm not taking anything for granted, not anymore. Besides," she continues with a shrug, "it's still two more weeks until I'll see him. Here, actually," she says while waving an arm at their surroundings.

"Send him a text," Alexis suggests. "Soon. Doesn't have to be anything big, just something to spark his thinking. His imagination will take over from there. And the sooner, the better. Fred's been trying to set him up. I think he finally relented."

"I will," Beckett promises, making a mental note to send an innocuous text on which she's sure she'll spend far too much time. While she's thinking about her upcoming lunch, the waitress returns with her credit card and a receipt to sign. "With any luck, my birthday present for him spurred some thoughts, too."

"Did _you_ give him the Fleming book?" Alexis asks with interest, looking happy at Beckett's nod. "That explains some things. He hasn't said anything to me about it, but it hasn't really been out of his reach since it showed up at home."

Heartened by this comment, Beckett signs the bill and returns her credit card to her pocketbook.

"Thanks again," Alexis says, "both for the college advice and the meal. I still should've paid," she harrumphs.

"Tell you what, Alexis," Beckett proposes. "You can make it up to me by telling me one more thing about your dad. Is he really riding a motorcycle?"

"Yes," Alexis huffs again. "The filthy hypocrite. He's paying a friend of his to teach him how to rebuild it – it looked pretty bad when he bought it, but it looks worse now." Noticing Beckett's look of confusion, Alexis explains. "It was a wreck, but at least it matched. Dad and his friend are rebuilding it slowly, as they get the parts and have the time. So, it's kind of in-between right now, half nice and half junk."

"Harley?" Beckett asks, wondering if her bike might've influenced Castle's purchase.

"No," she answers with a shake of her head before pulling out her phone and opening the camera roll. Handing her phone to Beckett provokes a laugh as the picture of an exceptionally grease-stained but proud Castle stands behind his contraption, apparently after installing a new fuel tank.

"An Indian Chief? That'll look beautiful when he's done," she praises, already imagining the possibilities.

"Maybe," Alexis allows. "I still think he looks more natural on a Vespa."

* * *

"Hey, check it," Esposito says from behind the wheel of his cruiser, drawing Ryan's attention away from his cell phone, where he was again reviewing the pictures of their wild trip to Vegas, from which he still doesn't feel fully recovered.

"Isn't that Castle's Ferrari?" Ryan answers, noting the car a few ahead of them, idling at a red light.

"We should say hi," Esposito says with an evil look, pointing at the controls for the flashers used in a traffic stop.

"I don't think that's a good idea, Javi," Ryan says with some apprehension as the light turns green and the cars start moving forward. "That's not exactly a nice way to say thanks."

"Nah, he'll get a kick out of it," Esposito replies, moving into position behind the sports car. Ryan's misgivings increase as the lights flash and Castle pulls over ahead of them.

"Cover me," Esposito laughs as he exits the cruiser. With a sigh, Ryan also leaves the car, walking around to the space behind Castle's Ferrari and in front of the cruiser's hood. It's difficult to tell with the small rear window, but as Ryan crouches to look through, he gets a sick feeling as he realizes that Esposito's plan has run into a major problem.

"Javi!" Ryan calls out, only to get waved off by his partner. Laughing as he saunters towards Castle's window like an old-time sheriff, Esposito doesn't bother to look as he raps on the window even as it lowers.

"License and regis…," he trails off as he finds himself looking at a beautiful woman, not Castle.

"Is there a problem, detective?" Fred asks from behind the wheel.

"Sorry," Esposito fumbles, a little dazed by Fred's looks and tongue-tied by having his prank run aground. "I, uh, need to see your license and registration," he says, committing to his story as the best way to get out of this situation, planning to go through the routine and then let her go with just a warning.

"The registration hasn't changed since the last time you borrowed this car, Javier," Fred says while shaking her head. "Do you really need to see my license, or are just going to admit that you pulled this car over thinking that you'd bully Rick?"

Waving for Ryan to join him, Esposito defends himself. "We weren't gonna _bully_ him," Esposito says while getting a cross look from Ryan for making it sound like he was part of this plan, "we just wanted to say hi to our friend."

"Right," Fred says with disdain, "you just wanted to say hi. To chat with your friend. That's why you've visited him at the loft, right, to say hi? Oh, wait, the one time you've stopped by was for a case," she recalls. Ryan and Esposito exchange curious looks as they try to figure out how this woman knows so much about them.

"The Haunt, then. You must've visited him at the Haunt," Fred continues before shaking her head. "No, that didn't happen, either," she says while pretending to look pensive. "You're happy to drink there, but not to say hey to the guy who owns the place, who sets aside a table for you and covers your tab. But I'm sure that was just an oversight, right?" she asks while leveling a penetrating stare that's met by sheepish looks.

"Oh, I know, I'm sure you've just called him since he left, right? Maybe for his birthday two weeks ago," she asks as Esposito and Ryan exchange guilty looks. "Oh, wait, not that, either," she reminds herself while tapping her cheek.

Fred waits, offering them a chance to explain, but instead Ryan and Esposito stand mute like chastened school kids hauled before the principal for willful misbehavior.

"He speaks so fondly of both of you," she continues when neither detective speaks, "and I could never really figure out why. From where I sit, it seems like you're pretty shitty friends. Glad to see that my instincts were right, though for his sake I wish they weren't. Here's my ID, _officers_. Please write my ticket so I can be on my way," she says while thrusting her driver's license at Esposito, who takes it mostly out of shock.

It's Ryan who moves first, pulling the ID out of his partner's hand, glancing at it, and handing it back to Fred. "We're sorry, Ms. Keates. You're free to go. Apologies for having wasted your time."

"What, no admonition to not tell Rick about this? To keep it quiet so your bogus traffic stop doesn't get you into trouble back at the Twelfth?" she asks as the partners share another wary glance. "If either one wouldn't devastate Rick, I'd do it in _heartbeat_ ," she promises. "I'd hoped for better from you both. Javier, you should've known better," she says while looking at Esposito, "and you should've stood up to him, Kevin," she notes in disappointment.

"Oh, and welcome back," she offers as she fires up the engine, reminding them again of exactly how much she knows about them. "I hope you enjoyed Las Vegas."

She doesn't even peel out as she leaves them behind, instead pulling neatly into traffic. Within moments, the red sports car is lost to sight, hidden behind buses and taxi cabs.

"Great idea, jackass," Ryan says as he punches Esposito in the shoulder and walks back to the cruiser.

"Who _was_ that?" Esposito asks as he slides in behind the wheel of the cruiser. "She was mean. Hot, angry, and mean."

"Hot, angry, mean, and right," Ryan replies.

* * *

"Make you a cup?" Ryan offers from his place in front of the espresso machine, showing off his expertise now that Castle's departure elevated him to the post of chief barista.

"Sure," Beckett replies absently, walking over and leaning against the counter to watch him work.

"I wanted to talk to you," Ryan says quietly. "Is everything okay with Castle?"

"He's okay," Beckett replies. "I met with Alexis this weekend. She says he's fine. Tired and overworked, but fine."

"That's good," Ryan nods while he works the machine, "but I guess I asked the wrong question. Is everything okay with you and Castle?" he asks with a knowing look.

"I don't know," Beckett admits quietly. "Ask me again at the end of the month."

Ryan waits, wondering if Beckett will offer an explanation, but he's not terribly surprised when she remains silent. In an effort to prompt the discussion, or maybe just provide some information, he takes a different route.

"I called Randall down in OC," he offers, noting Beckett's head jerk in his peripheral vision as he focuses on the mug in his hand. "She said she'd need to know more about his tattoo to decide on whether it's linked to any of the crews – the location isn't enough. Garcia in Gangs said the same thing."

"Kevin, we're not supposed to be poking into this," Beckett says suppressively. "Besides, Montgomery knows what he's doing and he's not worried. He even wants him back. That wouldn't be the case if Castle was working with a criminal crew."

"Except he's done it before, right?" Ryan asks, voicing some of his own concerns.

"Years and years ago," Beckett confesses. "Look, Kevin, I was worried about this, too, until I realized something: he'd never do that to Alexis," she says with conviction. "Whatever he's doing has some risk attached to it, but he'd never do anything that dangerous while Alexis still needs him. If she were off to college, I'd be terrified. But for now, I think we're okay."

"Yeah," Ryan replies as he hands a cup of coffee to Beckett, "I guess you're right about that. I was just being dumb."

"No, Kevin," Beckett contradicts with a hand on his forearm, "you were being a friend."

"Better late than never," he mumbles, but doesn't elaborate at Beckett's raised brow. "Besides," he says to shift the topic, "you saw the size of him. He's probably a stevedore," he laughs at the image. "That'd explain the calluses on his hands. Or, I know, a bouncer at a strip…," he trails off as he remembers he's talking to Beckett, not Esposito, "... steak restaurant."

"Nice save," Beckett says flatly, before she huffs a laugh. "Actually," she says while pulling out her phone and navigating to the picture Alexis sent her, "maybe he's a mechanic."

"Huh," Ryan says, smiling while he looks at the picture. "I thought that was a bike helmet by the door after we met with Martha, but I wondered if I might've been hallucinating from whatever she put in the food."

"If you hadn't gorged so much, I'm sure you wouldn't have been seeing things," Beckett answers with a smile of her own, especially when Ryan starts muttering about poison, betrayal, and the perils of working for a skinny boss.

His antics cheer her, until she remembers that Ryan was always Castle's understudy when it came to humor in the precinct. That recollection depresses her as she makes her way back to her desk to dive back into today's paperwork. The caffeine helps her focus, but it doesn't make the forms any more exciting. As Montgomery predicted, the demands from the DA's office have skyrocketed, leading Beckett to uncharitable thoughts about how a new case involving someone there might be a double win – it'd get her team out of the precinct and it might remove someone piling on the administrative work.

"Hey Beckett," Ryan calls out about ten minutes later. "He's legal – Class M license endorsement," he says while looking at the details of Castle's driver's license.

"Timing looks off, though," Esposito says from behind Ryan, having gotten up and walked around when his partner started talking. "He probably knew somebody that helped him speed things up."

"You're in the DMV database?" Beckett asks. When Ryan nods, she hesitates for a moment before deciding to forge ahead. "Will you pull up the file on Winnie Keates?"

"How'd you know about that?" Esposito asks in alarm, the same time Ryan protests with "It was his idea!"

Like a parent confronting two guilty kids, Beckett lets her disapproving glare soften them up before she moves in for the confessions.

"Conference room," Beckett says curtly, rising from her seat and leading the way. The boys follow, looking like they're walking to the gallows.

Ryan and Esposito are trying to surreptitiously work out their story as they settle into their seats in the conference room when a knock on the door changes the agenda. "Detectives," Montgomery says. "Unless you'd prefer to stay and do more paperwork, a wellbeing check at his apartment turned up the body of one William Webber." Handing a post-it note with the address to Beckett, he easily recognizes the look of relief that Ryan and Esposito both share. "And gentlemen?" he says as the team stands and prepares to leave, following a hunch based on the guilty looks of the two men. "I think we need to have a talk when you return."

* * *

"Well, this is awkward," Castle's companion says from her side of the candle-lit table. The lights are low, the music subtle, and the aromas enticing, but the mood isn't making this blind date any easier.

"That it is," Castle laughs as he agrees, "but it doesn't have to be. Did Winnie set the same conditions for you, too? One date, a promise of no follow-up for a month, with an established curfew for tonight?"

"She's worse than my parents," Divya replies with a small smile. "But yes, she gave me the same speech about 'cleansing the palate,' whatever that means."

"So, tell me about your ex," Castle dives in, figuring this dinner, which is only getting started, can only get better by shaking things up or ending abruptly. While his companion for the evening is lovely, she's been so painfully shy in their futile attempts at conversation that it's difficult to see how this date won't be a complete fiasco.

When Divya looks uncertain, he tries to coax her along. "We're both here because we need to move on. I don't know about you, but one of the worst things I find about being in this situation, _again_ , is worrying that I'll remember her or mention her in a conversation with someone new. But, we're in the same boat here tonight," he says while Divya adds a hesitant nod, "so why tiptoe around? Tonight can be a chance to get that out of our systems so we're not worried about it haunting us as we try to move forward. I think that's what Winnie meant by _cleansing the palate_."

"I guess," Divya says slowly, trying to get comfortable with the idea, but clearly struggling. "I think I need more wine before I'd talk about something like that," she admits. "It's just embarrassing, you know? Heartbreaking and painful and humiliating. And I don't even know you!"

"Which might make it easier, right? I'm a safety date," he says smugly. "Plus, however embarrassed you feel, look at me! I've been divorced twice and dumped even more often. Can you beat that?" he asks with self-deprecating bravado.

"You're not a very reticent fellow, are you?" Divya asks, looking intrigued but also taking another fortifying gulp of wine.

Castle huffs a laugh, then sits back in his chair. "That's fair. Maybe we should take a step back. Why don't you tell me about yourself? Usually I try to guess people's stories, but tonight I'm just going to listen. Tell me whatever you want – who you are or who you want to be, where you're from or where you want to go."

"I know you work in a different genre, Rick, but have you read any science fiction?" Divya asks, prompting a happy grin while he nods vigorously. "Are you familiar with the concept of a pocket universe?"

"Marry me?" Castle says with a laugh. "Seriously, breaking out the sci-fi on a first date. So cool."

"I think, perhaps, we might've discovered one of the reasons your relationships haven't fared well," Divya says with tongue in cheek. "Don't you know that men are supposed to be _afraid_ to commit?"

"I've always been a bit contrary," Castle replies happily. "Anyway, a pocket universe – a theoretic possibility, a reality separate from but contained within our own, possibly with different physical laws. That's a great analogy for tonight. We can say whatever we want without concern about the effects and reverberations back home. Are you up for it?" he asks with a tilt of his brow, wide eyes, and a beguiling smile.

Divya pauses for a moment to consider, then jumps in. "Yes," she answers decisively, reaching for her wine glass. "Let's try it. Just be gentle with me, Rick," she says with a naughty look – apparently now that she's decided to participate, she's fully embracing the experience – "it's my first time."

Two hours later, Divya pushes away the remnants of their Chocolate Decadence that Castle enticed her to order for them. The combination of the dessert and a lush red wine has rendered them mellow, happy, and more than a little buzzed. The buzz becomes literal as Castle's cell phone reminds him that their curfew approaches.

"Shall we go?" he asks lazily, enjoying himself. Once they finally embraced Winnie's structure for their date, they had a wonderful evening. Divya can be wickedly funny, oddly bold considering her background, and is anxious to put a two-year dead-end relationship (complete with the aforementioned fear of commitment) behind her. In fact, she was so talkative once they got started that Castle was able to avoid talking about himself or Beckett, instead pumping Divya for more details about her background, hopes, and dreams. After the first hour, the references to her ex became infrequent, so that not even his specter loomed by the time dessert arrived. He envies her ability to leave heartbreak behind, but is glad that tonight might've worked for one of them.

"I suppose," she agrees with a sigh. "I wouldn't be surprised if Winnie calls me to see how things went. You, too?"

"I'm not sure," Castle smiles. "She doesn't usually call me late at night – she's always worried about waking Alexis or interrupting me at work. But maybe she'll make an exception tonight," he says as he rises and offers a hand to his companion. In just minutes they're in the back of a car service sedan, gliding gently and quietly through the beauty of New York City at night.

"Thank you, Rick," Divya says, reaching across the seat to grasp his hand. "It's been a long time since my last first date," she admits, "and I can't remember one that went better than tonight's."

"My pleasure," Castle replies with a happy smile. "It might've taken us a few minutes to lose the training wheels, but I think we remembered how to ride the bike."

"We did," she replies with a smile. "I'm just so glad that tonight went well. I was convinced it was going to be a disaster," she confesses.

"Glad I could surpass your disastrously low expectations for the evening," Castle laughs, getting a gentle swat to the arm for his joke before Divya reclaims his hand. "You've discovered my secret, Div – foster low expectations so people are always positively surprised. Works like a charm," he laughs again and wins a smile with his antics.

Before she can reply, the car pulls to the curb as it slows to a stop, positioned outside her apartment building. "This is me," she says with a sigh. Castle exits the sedan, holding out a hand to help her out of the car. Rather than release his hand once standing, though, Divya takes a deep breath and turns toward Castle rather than the door to her building.

"Winnie just said we had to be home by curfew," she says in an attempt to be bold, though her voice warbles. "She didn't say whose home."

"Divya," Castle replies gently, "I really don't think that would be a good idea."

"Come on, Rick," she entices, tugging on his hand again, "Pocket universe, remember? Besides, you're a writer. Isn't a line like that how all the best stories start?"

* * *

"Wow, breakfast, too?" Fred asks as she opens her door to admit Castle, who's struggling with a tray of their coffees in one hand and a bag of pastries in the other.

"This delivery service promises a full range of amenities," he says as he pauses and waits for her to grab her drink.

Fred unburdens the tray and points to the dining table even as she walks off in another direction. "Sorry, I'll be right there. I'm a little behind on my packing. Give me a few minutes?"

"Sure," Castle says with a laugh, adjusting her estimate by the conversion rate he's learned from experience and preparing for a 10-15 minute wait. He's shocked when Fred's back in fewer than five minutes, a suitcase in one hand and a roller-board in the other, coffee balanced precariously on top.

"There!" she says happily as she collapses into a seat at the table and lunges for a croissant. "Perfect," she sighs after a bite, turning quickly to her coffee.

"So," she says as the caffeine hits her system, "what, exactly, happened with Divya?" she asks with a perched brow and inquisitive look.

"That's what I should be asking you!" Castle replies. "Somehow ' _I know you're not ready, she's safe_ ,'" he says with air quotes, "turned into ' _good luck, she's a wanton seductress_!'"

"I think you're exaggerating again," Fred laughs. "Divya's among the most demure women I know."

" _Demure_ ," Castle marvels, shaking his head. "Maybe at first blush. But get her talking, then bam! Watch your bottom."

This comment, combined with his affronted look, pulls peals of laughter from Fred. Castle's happy to go along with it until Fred doesn't stop, tears leaking from her eyes as she tries to calm herself.

"Oh, Rick," she hiccups, "if only your reputation could see you now!"

"I know, right?" he says while giving up his pout to chuckle along with her. "But that wasn't cool, Fred," he says with a voice mostly pretending to be stern. "Here I am worried about relapsing and you feed me to a tiger!"

Shaking her head and chuckling some more, Fred sits back and gives Castle a good, long look. "You must be quite a charmer, Rick. She really isn't like that. And you must've fended her off gently, because she still sounds fond of you. You _did_ fend her off, right?"

"My virtue is intact, thank you very much," he says peevishly, causing another mirthful reaction. "I'm actually glad to hear that she's okay with how things ended. I nearly froze up – the whole 'cleanse the palate' thing could've backfired big-time if it ended with a rejection."

"I hadn't even thought of that," Fred replies apologetically, blushing. "I mean, I never even thought things could've gone that far. You're a good man, Rick Castle," she says, patting his hand. "However you let her down, it was gentle enough that she's not feeling bad about it."

"Good," he answers, genuinely glad to hear that Divya's not upset. "But I don't want to try that again for a very long time," he says emphatically before looking at his watch. "Enough about my evasive maneuvers, though – we need to hit the road if you're going to catch your flight."

Nodding her agreement, Fred bustles them out of her apartment, acceding to Castle's desire to carry her bags only so that she can take the trash out with her, lest her place grow ripe in the three weeks she'll be out in LA – two for 'vacation' and one for scouting potential Aegis locations for a west coast expansion. Castle, of course, refuses to pass either piece of luggage back once she deposits the trash in the disposal chute, so she spends the elevator ride down to the ground floor giving him trouble about his animal magnetism and how it must be so difficult to have to hold off the women of the city. Only when he flinches at one of her barbs does she remember his upcoming meeting.

Following him out of her building and toward a parking area down the block, she apologies. "Sorry, Rick. I forgot that your big lunch outing is coming up while I'm gone. Call me if you want to talk, yeah?"

"I'll be fine," he answers, not sure he believes it himself, but willing to put up the front. "I actually got a text from her last week," he admits, now wishing he had a free hand to run through his hair.

"Oh?" Fred asks, starting to feel guilty for having overlooked this aspect of his life and growing concerned about her absence.

"Yeah," he answers in a voice too nonchalant to be genuine. "Nothing big – just mentioned that she met with Alexis to talk about college applications and that she's looking forward to our lunch."

"Is that good or bad?" Fred asks, wondering where Castle's head is at.

"Not sure," he huffs in response. "It's different. She's not usually big on telling me what she's up to. I think she wanted me to know that she met with Alexis so that I wouldn't be angry if I found out later."

"Would you have been angry?" Fred asks, genuinely curious.

Shaking his head and turning into the lot, Castle shrugs. "Not directly, I guess. Alexis admires Kate, and getting her help is a smart move. But I'm starting to wonder how I'm supposed to get over Beckett if my family doesn't. Mother's still dropping her not-at-all-subtle references to 'darling Katherine' and Alexis revamped our college visit trip to include Beckett's recommendations." Setting Fred's suitcase next to the trunk of his Mercedes, Castle now takes advantage of having a hand free to show his frustration. "But I'm being petty, and I know it. Beckett's suggestions were all good ones, so how can I fault someone for giving good counsel to the most important person in my life? It's making me crazy. She's the most maddening woman I know."

Letting Castle have some privacy while he huffs and loads her bags into the trunk, Fred waits quietly for him to unlock the doors. Sliding into the passenger seat and buckling up, she waits until they're on the road before she offers a hesitant observation.

"You sound like you're not over her," she says gently.

Castle remains silent for a few moments, letting his white knuckles speak to his state of mind. Eventually, though, he finds his words. "I'm not," he admits with a sad smile. "But I always do my best work when faced with a looming deadline."

* * *

A/N: This is the first chapter where I've messed with where the weekends fall. In this case, the last scene with Winnie was supposed to be the first scene of Week Eight. But that would've left a gratuitously angsty cliffhanger for this chapter, so I didn't end with Castle's blind date. For those of you hoping for shorter chapters, the next one will be shorter as a result.

I post this as I head to the airport for a business development event in San Francisco. I'm hoping the cross-country flight will give me time to get some writing done (though it's also an excellent excuse to reread Aalon's _A Different Road Taken_ ). If the event goes well, I'll post the next chapter on Thursday. Finally, thanks to Garrae for the heads up on getting around the website's current difficulties with .docx files.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional.

* * *

 **Week Eight**

"Status update on the Webber case?" Montgomery requests as he approaches Beckett's team, which is currently gathered around the murderboard.

"We're still working through the numbers that appear on his phone records, home and office," Beckett supplies, her tone belying her frustration. "Nothing there so far, and we're crossing off the frequent calls, so the deeper we dive the less likely we'll find anything of interest," she says to Montgomery's ready nod. While it's possible that an infrequent caller is involved, it's much more often the case that if the phone records are useful, it's a high-frequency or recent call that provides the lead they need.

"Workplace?" Montgomery prompts.

"Environmental advocacy group," Esposito answers. "Seems to be a true believer, so it wasn't just to annoy dad, who's an executive at BP. Small operation, seems okay on funding. But they freak out about killing cows for leather, so it doesn't seem like a likely place to find someone who drilled a human with a .357. But we're looking."

"Hobbies, organizations, side jobs?" Montgomery asks, starting to appreciate the lack of handles for their investigation.

"Outdoors stuff," Ryan answers. "Running club, kayaking. No religious affiliation, but he does some volunteer work. Childhood literacy at a local elementary school, mostly."

Now looking grim, Montgomery reviews the board again. "Forensics?"

"Gun's not in the system," Beckett answers, "and no shell casing. One shot, pressed against his sternum behind a pillow from the sofa. But the shot probably didn't matter. It looks like he answered the door for someone with the chain lock engaged. Our perp forced the door open, breaking the chain, and used his gun as a bludgeon. Lanie says the blunt force trauma to the head most likely would've killed Webber. As it was, he was probably unconscious when the shot finished him off."

"And nothing was taken?" Montgomery confirms. "So, rage. Someone wanted to hurt Will Webber, beating him nearly to death before remembering it was a gun in hand, not a truncheon. But then taking the time, and risking the noise, for a shot." The detectives nod along, unsurprised that the captain is treading the same ground they've covered. "Next steps?"

"Ryan and Espo are going to check in with the father, see if there's anything there that might point to a potential motive," Beckett answers. "I'm going to check with the school and the running club. Just a hunch," Beckett shrugs at Montgomery's inquisitive look.

"Okay," Montgomery blesses the plan. "Doesn't sound like we have much to go on. I want an update by this time tomorrow; we can push hard until the end of the week, other cases permitting. But after that, you know our odds," he reminds them, getting glum nods in return. "So, get moving," he says, catching Beckett's eye and looking toward his office.

Taking his meaning, Beckett dawdles so that Ryan and Esposito leave the precinct ahead of her. The elevator doors have barely closed before she's knocking on Montgomery's door, getting waved in.

"I'm not going to say anything about making sure you're not drawing this out for the sake of your data project," Montgomery says to start their interview. "I trust you, Beckett. Run it as you see fit."

"Thank you, sir," a nonplussed Beckett replies, the thought of letting other concerns like Castle's return to the precinct affect her effort on the case foreign to her.

"But I called you in for your other project," Montgomery pushes. "You're still looking into the DA's office, right?" he asks without waiting for her answer. "Things are going to blow there soon, so you need to be ready."

"I'm pushing, sir," she replies, a little put out. "It feels like you know where to look but you're not telling me. Is there something I'm missing?"

"Yes."

When Montgomery says nothing more, Beckett stares at him until she starts to grow annoyed. "That's it? Yes?" she pushes, and the Captain continues to remain silent. "Will I recognize whatever it is when I find it?"

"Yes," Montgomery promises. "In fact, I think you might be the only one who will."

* * *

"Hi, Alexis, come in," Beckett welcomes, holding the door to her apartment open for Castle's daughter. Beckett's look turns from a welcoming smile to one of mild exasperation as she sees the takeout bag Alexis carries into the apartment. "I thought we were just having coffee?"

"I remember dad's comments about how often you skip meals," Alexis replies with a sly smile, "and I still feel bad that you paid for our burgers and milkshakes. So, now we have something to snack on while we talk, or you have leftovers for tomorrow."

"You Castles," Beckett grumbles good-naturedly as she leads Alexis to the dining table, "you're always taking care of people."

"Sorry," Alexis says happily, clearly not sorry in the slightest. "It's a bad habit. I don't think we'll be able to break it," she laments with a smile.

"I hope not," Beckett mumbles in reply, surprised that Alexis hears her and smiles wider in reply. Embarrassed yet again, she turns to tonight's agenda. "What did you bring me?"

"Besides chicken pad thai?" Alexis asks with a wink, showing off that she remembers Beckett's favorites. "I've got a draft of my admissions essay, my transcript, my resume, and the itinerary for my visits this summer," she says, setting a folder down on the table. That these files could've been emailed is an obvious point on which neither woman remarks.

"Can I just say, again, how disgusting it is that you're this organized?" Beckett asks while shaking her head, retrieving plates and flatware for their meal. "I thought I was on top of things back when I applied, but I wasn't even in your league."

"It's important," Alexis answers with a shrug, blushing slightly.

Beckett realizes her mistake quickly, and though she's not always one for physical affection, she follows her instincts. After setting the dining ware on the table, she walks next to Alexis' chair and puts her hand on the girl's back, just below her neck. Rubbing gently, she tries to make sure her comments are clear. "That wasn't criticism, Alexis, it was envy," she says earnestly. "I can talk about how you're so much more organized than I was back then, but that's only because I don't want to admit that in some important ways you're more put together than I am now."

Well, that backfired, Beckett thinks as she watches Alexis' blush fully bloom, shortly before the girl lowers her head. "See?" she says, reaching for the joking tone that she'd heard so often from Castle, "I can't even encourage you well," Beckett laments facetiously as she removes her hand and goes about distributing the food as an excuse to give Alexis a reprieve. "I'm sorry I embarrassed you."

"Curse of the redhead," Alexis murmurs, still looking down. "When we blush, everyone knows."

"It might not feel like it," Beckett offers, "but it looks lovely."

"Not helping," Alexis grumbles, pulling a laugh from Beckett.

"Okay, dropping it," Beckett replies, retrieving the water pitcher from the refrigerator and filling two glasses. "I'll look at these tonight and put together some comments," she says, switching gears back to the ostensible reason for their meeting. "You have writers lined up for your rec letters?"

"Mostly," Alexis answers, curiously looking no more comfortable even though they've switched topics. "There are a few schools that want extra letters or prefer letters from certain kinds of people."

"Really?" Beckett asks. "I don't remember having to deal with that. From whom do they want letters?"

"A few schools specify the need for a letter from someone who's not a teacher. My advisor says that's so they can get a sense of who I am outside of the classroom," Alexis replies, before dipping into her meal, some kind of soup. "Others suggest letters from employers or from people who knew me since before high school would be preferred."

"Seems a little extreme," Beckett replies while thinking that she's glad these extra hoops weren't there for her applications, "but I guess I can see where they're coming from. They're trying to build a community, not just a classroom."

"That's a much less cynical take than what dad had to say about it," Alexis says with a smile.

"Cynical?" Beckett repeats. "Castle's never really struck me as a cynic."

"He'd say 'realist' in this respect, and he might be right," Alexis allows. "His theory is that most 'braniacs' end up with happy, successful careers. But the visionaries, the wildly successful people – the ones who achieve something great in business or government or policy or arts – sometimes they have something different, something that's tough to see in standardized test scores or transcripts. Colleges want to be affiliated with the successes of those people and want the generous alumni donations that follow, so they're working hard to figure out a way to find the superstars as well as the high-achievers."

"I can see his point," Beckett allows, letting this theory roll around her head. Really, it's not so outlandish compared to many of his theories, and the context of his life provides some insight into its foundation. "Goodness knows Stanford's alumni giving group found me soon enough after I was promoted. And I don't even have a degree from there!"

"Dad always laughs about how the best detectives work for the alumni giving departments of colleges and universities. Despite changing his name and moving to an unlisted address with an unlisted phone number, Dad said there was never a pause in the arrival of donation requests from his alma mater," Alexis says with a laugh. "So, there you go, Kate. If you ever get tired of chasing murderers, you can move into academia and deal with the real criminals."

"Now who's the cynic?" Beckett asks with a laugh, getting a smile in return. "So, you've got a few holes in your rec letter strategy. Any I can fill?"

Her innocent question causes the smile to fall from Alexis' face with a nearly physical motion, putting a quick damper on the frivolity of the conversation.

"I'm sorry," Beckett apologizes, not really sure what's gone wrong but concerned about upsetting Alexis again. "It was just a thought."

"No, it's…," Alexis trails off, struggling to find a grip on this conversation. She starts again, then stops, frustrated. Finally, with a deep breath, she seems to back up on their conversational path. "I'm a little ahead of the game. My apps aren't due until autumn," she explains, getting a nod from Beckett. "That's still months away."

Beckett nods again, giving Alexis the space to follow her thoughts.

"Rec letters are supposed to come from people like teachers, bosses, instructors," she explains. "I was kinda hoping," she says, blushing and looking down yet again, "that by the time I need to send in applications, you'd be too close to us to be objective."

"Oh, Alexis," Beckett answers quietly, reaching out to clasp her hand. "I hope so, too."

* * *

"Thank you, Vice Principal Hardy, we'll look into it right away," Beckett says as she rings off, placing the handset in its cradle even as she stands. "Sorry, boys," she calls out to her teammates who were looking longingly at the elevator doors while contemplating their escape, "we've got a lead."

Though it's been a long week and they were anxious to go home, both Esposito and Ryan are professional enough to launch into action without whining or suggesting a delay for the remainder of the weekend. "What's up, boss?" Esposito asks.

"Remember the childhood literacy work Webber was doing at the elementary school?" she asks as she presses the elevator's call button. "I just got a call from the vice principal. Her librarian – Meghan Malloy – has been out all week. She didn't think to mention it because Meghan requested the time before we showed up to ask questions. But the vice principal got another email from her tonight, saying she won't be in next week, either. She doesn't have the vacation time, and the vice principal said she's living on a shoestring."

"So, you think she might be involved, might be hiding out?" Ryan asks as they step aboard the elevator.

"Ms. Malloy transferred to the school last year after walking out of an abusive relationship," Beckett answers in a somber tone. "After her young son 'fell down the stairs.'"

"Oh, shit," Esposito growls. "Let me guess – jealous ex thinks something's going on between Ms. Malloy and the visiting volunteer?"

"Maybe," Beckett agrees. "Ms. Malloy's not answering her phone, so that's our first stop."

Texting the address to her teammates just before the elevator releases them onto the ground floor, Beckett breaks from them to take her own cruiser. It's already past end-of-shift and Webber was helping at a school in a rough neighborhood, so they have a long drive ahead of them, after which they'll want to head directly home. So, Beckett piles into her cruiser alone, fires up the engine, and casts a forlorn glimpse at the uncomfortable, empty passenger seat next to her before heading towards Meghan Malloy's address, a run-down area where old townhouses have been converted into apartments.

Twenty minutes later, she's approaching the address when her phone rings. "We got trouble," Esposito's voice says ominously from the speaker phone, though Beckett's last turn provides details before Esposito can speak them. Lights are already flashing as Beckett's forced to turf her cruiser outside the perimeter established by emergency vehicles already on the scene. As she steps out of the cruiser and her team approaches, she smells smoke and looks to see flames licking at the townhouse complex.

"Come on," Beckett says authoritatively when the boys stop to take in the scene. Pressing forward and navigating around fleeing residents and the EMTs who shepherd them or call out to those who might need assistance, Beckett cuts a path toward the building before someone steps in front of her to block her path.

The dark-haired man in her way is about to say something when the sound of a gunshot rings out even above the din of the activity. And then, just barely discernable, the sound of a woman's terrified scream.

"No!" someone shouts just in front of them, just as a firefighter runs towards the door to the townhouse. The firefighter who'd been laying out hose nearby follows, though it's not clear if he or she is trying to assist or prevent a rescue plan. Even as the first firefighter kicks open the door, flames are clearly visible within the building. But the firefighter charges forward, followed by the colleague.

"God dammit!" yells the man who'd blocked Beckett's path. Reaching for the mouthpiece on his shoulder, he barks out a demand. "Who the hell went in?" he yells as the activity around them seems to grow even more frenetic.

A static-laden squawk follows his inquiry, followed by a scratchy voice. "Tommy," the voice answers before trailing off with another squawk. "And Rick."

 _No. It can't be._

Beckett stands frozen as the pieces fall into place. The strength training. The odd shifts. The colleagues who don't think much of the NYPD. The perils – the perils Martha mentioned as she tried to assure Beckett that Castle was being careful in his post-precinct life.

And someone who charges into trouble when he should stay with the damned vehicle.

" _Castlllllllle_!" Beckett screams in a bellowing mix of fear, fury, and potential loss, loudly enough to knock back the man with the radio. Esposito's at her side before she realizes that she fell to her knees. His help galvanizes her, allows her to turn her upward motion into forward motion as she focuses on the door behind which she'll find her partner.

"No, God dammit!" the dark-haired man yells again, catching Beckett's arm just before she moved out of reach. Esposito and Ryan close ranks to assist, before the man yells again. "You'd be dead before you reached the door! Now stay the hell out of the way!"

To her horror, Beckett sees that the man was right – the view through the door is terrifying, a cascading torrent of fire. Even as the remaining firefighters work the hoses the flames seem to dance and evade, burning brightly almost in mockery of the effort to extinguish them. Smoke pours from several windows, curling and licking up the side of the building before reaching to the sky.

Seconds, minutes, or lifetimes later – it's hard to tell – the tide seems to turn. The scrambling firefighters seem to be making inroads, constantly attacking the chaotic front of flames. But even as the fragile sense of optimism tries to take root, it's crushed by the sound of three more gunshots.

Beckett hasn't felt this hopeless, this bereft, since she was nineteen.

To their credit, the firefighters don't even pause in their efforts. The man who blocked Beckett continues to command the scene with his radio, his screams, and his scowling attitude. There is a primal pragmatism on display, the need to contain the flames that will otherwise kill their colleagues driving the team to contain the fire that will kill others if it spreads. Still, the flames seem to suddenly grow in intensity, almost as if in response to the hubris displayed by those trying to quell its elemental fury. It's clear now that the effort has shifted entirely to containing the spread of the fire – Meghan Malloy's section of the building, into which Castle had charged, is a lost cause.

Beckett stares into the flames until her eyes water. The tears that flow make it difficult to see, refracting the flares and bursts that she already knows will haunt her nightmares. But she lets them flow, lets them run down her cheeks unabated, her own meager contribution to the liquid fighting the flames.

She thinks her eyes are playing tricks on her at first, when the flames at the door seem to part and pool, suggesting the possibility of a shape moving behind them. But then the shape resolves, looking like some lurching nightmare in outline. A few more staggering steps brings the figure, and the explanation, to light. One of the firefighters survived the inferno. He's got something cradled to his chest and a figure draped over a shoulder beneath a blanket. The weight of these loads makes him slow, causes him to stumble so that Beckett fears he'll be overtaken by the flames. But with a few more struggling steps, he clears the townhouse and its portico, stumbling down the two steps to the walk.

Only then does the last burden become apparent. In addition to what he carried from the building, the firefighter is dragging his partner by the collar of his coat. His completely inert partner.

Even as Beckett stares transfixed, a group of firefighters from a nearby truck breaks off to help. They swarm the survivor, freeing him of his burdens as he collapses to the ground. Beckett sees the bundle from his chest resolve itself into a young boy, who's quickly led to an ambulance. The other figure turns out to be a woman, who must be his mother – perhaps that's Meghan Malloy. She, too, is also carried away, though her sluggish movements reveal her state of distress.

But Beckett's eyes are on the fallen firefighter who'd been dragged out of the building, who's being hoisted up and rushed to a nearby gurney. She's there before she remembers moving, using her lithe form to slip through the gaps in the wall of burly firefighters. He's on his side as she reaches the gurney, tilted away from her so that his colleagues can remove the respirator tank and lay him flat. His helmet's off, though his head is still obscured by a nomex hood. What she can see, though, is the bloodstain on the upper back of his bunker coat. She knows this can't be true, but the bloodstain seems to grow even as she watches.

Beckett's shoved aside as the EMTs move in, prompting her to jostle whoever's around her so she can fight for a place. She feels a hand on her shoulder trying to pull her back, but she fights it even as the body on the gurney is lowered and his face comes into view. With a burst of energy, Beckett plows forward, grabbing the gurney and startling the EMT next to her. Reaching out, she finds a hand and grips it tightly. After a moment of shock, she's wracked with guilt. Because whoever's on the gurney, it's not Castle.

Feeling another tug on her shoulder, Beckett turns to see that it's Esposito who's been trying to get her attention. When she looks at him, he uses his free hand to point. There, sitting on another gurney, is the firefighter who walked out of the building. There is no crowd around him, just one EMT who tends to him while he struggles to remove his equipment. Beckett feels offended and turns back to admonish the firefighters for not helping their other colleague, but they're gone. They're all back on the attack, trying to beat the fire into submission.

Turning back, she sees Ryan help remove the tank, helmet, and hood of the last firefighter. He looks exhausted, beaten, and frightened. But she's never been more thrilled to see him.

"Castle, thank God," she says as she tackles him, having knocked the EMT aside in her haste.

"Got you," Castle says as he heaves a breath, during which the EMT roughly clears his throat in an inelegant but effective request for Beckett to release her grip on his patient and get out of his way. "Gift," he says, sucking in another breath. After fumbling with still-gloved hands, he gives up.

"Ryan," Castle says through his labored breath and fatigue. "Pocket. Ev'dence."

Dipping into his own pocket for a plastic glove, Ryan dons it and reaches toward the bulky pocket on the side of Castle's right thigh. Gingerly, he reaches in and withdraws a .357 revolver.

"Castle," Esposito asks as Ryan drops the weapon into a plastic bag. "What happened to the shooter?"

"Dead," Castle answers quietly, still trying to suck in a breath even as the EMT starts to wind an oxygen cannula around his ear and under his nose. "Couldn't save them all."

* * *

"Yes, sir," Beckett says peremptorily, taking her final instructions from Montgomery. "I don't think there's going to be much of a scene left to process, but I'll talk to FDNY. Yes, someone _besides_ Castle," she says, still a little too stressed to roll her eyes in reaction. Castle's still out of sight, inside an ambulance that looks like it's preparing to depart. She's anxious to check on him, see how he's feeling, but Montgomery won't shut up. Finally giving up, both on waiting for her boss to finish and on paying any particular attention to what he's saying, Beckett approaches the ambulance.

Shockingly, it appears that Castle's being a good patient. He's prone on the gurney and still wears the oxygen cannula, but whatever he's saying in a low voice has the EMT chuckling even as he turns to close the doors

"Wait!" Beckett says, shouting out to the EMT.

" _What_?" Montgomery asks, shortly before Beckett hangs up on him.

Stepping up on the back bumper of the ambulance, Beckett thinks better of sliding inside or reaching out to pat Castle, even though her hand is already reaching toward him. The space is already cramped, and it's not clear if Castle's hurt or if he'd welcome the outreach. So, instead, she raises her hand and offers the widest smile she can imagine, one that contains all her hopes and thoughts. "Be well, Castle," she says clearly, "and behave. I'll see you soon."

Her parting admonition prompts a grudging smile, and though Castle doesn't speak, he lifts in hand in farewell.

"Saint Mark's," the EMT offers their destination apologetically as he moves to close the doors, causing Beckett to finally step down.

The ambulance is still pulling away when she feels a hand on her shoulder. Expecting Esposito again, she's surprised to see Lanie instead.

"He should be fine," Lanie offers before pulling Beckett into a hug she didn't know she needed. "They're taking him in for observation. His friend should be okay, too – through and through to the left shoulder. They'll need to check, but they're hoping for no structural damage."

"Thanks, Lanie," Beckett says quietly, quickly swiping a hand across her cheek. "What're you doing here? Wait," she says before her friend can answer. "Do I even want to know what you promised Espo to thank him for this information?"

"As much as I'd love to tease you about this," Lanie replies with a smile, "he actually volunteered it freely – he called while Castle was still in the building," she says grimly as both women recognize how things might've gone differently. "I'm not sure what happened," Lanie continues in an intentionally cheery voice, "but Javi's all Mr. Boy Scout lately where Castle's concerned."

"Ryan, too," Beckett notes. "Maybe they miss him."

Beckett and Lanie ruminate on this as they watch the remaining firefighters finish the job of containing and extinguishing the blaze. Beckett had been so focused on Castle, then on informing Montgomery, that she'd lost track of that battle.

"So," Lanie asks, interrupting Beckett's thoughts. "What's your gameplan here?"

"Talk to him," Beckett replies with a shrug. "Make sure he's okay. Let him know that I'm happy to see him, despite the terrible circumstances. Oh, and I'll need to take his statement," she realizes, initially embarrassed but then happy that this wasn't her first thought.

"Okay," Lanie nods cautiously. "That's good. The last thing you guys need is another fight."

"Why would we fight?" Beckett asks in confusion. "He could've died! The last thing I'm going to do tomorrow is argue with him!" she says with a self-conscious laugh.

"But then how will he recognize you?" Lanie asks with a raised brow. At Beckett's incensed look, she laughs and backs off. "I'm just glad to hear that you're not going to have a go at him about leaving the precinct. Just focus on looking ahead."

"He didn't have a choice," Beckett admits. "He told me that back then, and he was right." When her confession is met with silence, rather than a jibe about admitting a mistake, Beckett casts a quick look at her friend. Lanie's troubled countenance clearly indicates that something else is going on. "Lanie? What am I missing?"

"We should talk about this later," Lanie demurs. "After you've met with Castle."

"Or we could talk about it now, while his _co-workers_ finish their business," Beckett proposes with an edge to her voice. "Lanie, _what's going on_?"

With a sigh, Lanie capitulates, taking some time to consider her answer. "You know Castle's an employee, right, not a shadow?" Lanie asks. Beckett looks blank, not having considered that there was a meaningful difference with more serious concerns on her mind since arriving. "You don't just walk into a fire station and apply. There are tests – serious tests that aren't simple to pass, that have to be taken in advance. Tests that Castle would've had to pass to be hired, even though he was too old."

"What do you mean, too old?" Beckett asks, seizing on the less troubling piece of Lanie's explanation. "There are other firefighters his age."

"There isn't an age requirement to join the FDNY," Lanie explains, "but there's an age limit on the exam that's required of applicants. Castle was too old to take it even before he started shadowing you at the precinct, but someone must've pulled some strings. The only other firefighters Castle's age started there before they hit the age cut-off."

"So, what are you saying?" Beckett asks, mind now tracing down dark paths.

"Castle must've passed the tests – that's probably one of the reasons that joining the Department was okay with the mayor when staying at the precinct wasn't. But, he couldn't have set this up quickly," Lanie says quietly while gesturing to the fire trucks, bustling firefighters, and their related equipment. "This is something that would've taken weeks, maybe even months, to arrange."

* * *

A/N: So there's the short chapter! Good thing nothing of consequence happened, right? But in return for the short chapter, you get a longer note.

I was originally going to call this story "Up in Flames," but thought that would've given it away. Castle and others will explain Sal and different aspects of Castle's position in the next chapter, which will help make the connection to earlier comments and clues more clear. But there are two things to discuss before then. First, back at the start of the story, I mentioned there was at least one aspect of his job that I'd have to fudge – that's the age issue raised by Lanie. As near as I can tell, the qualifying exam for the FDNY has an age cap of 29 (though I haven't been able to determine if this was different five years ago). So, clearly, Castle would've been too old to take the exam without some kind of exception.

The other issue that still surprises me is the depth of the rivalry/animosity between the police and fire departments in NYC. I thought someone would guess Castle's new job back in late May when there was a big story about a bench-clearing brawl at an NYPD v. FDNY charity football game (appropriately named the "Fun City Bowl"). If you wonder whether I overplayed the discomfort with the police angle, do a quick web search of "nypd fdny rivalry." Fighting Palsy probably did more for Castle's place with his new coworkers than every other effort combined.

Thanks for the suggestions (and waves from across the Bay) for my jaunt to San Francisco. The trip was wildly successful and a very good time. What a great city.

Next chapter on Monday morning at the latest.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional (except for the one mentioned in the A/N below).

* * *

 **Week Nine**

"Lanie? Can I call you back later? I really need to get going," Beckett says into her cell phone as she opens her closet to consider her jacket choices. Ridiculously, she's running late after changing her outfit several times. And now, she realizes with consternation, the winning outfit doesn't match her jackets well.

"I know you need to get moving, that's why I called," Lanie replies in a tone of forbearance. "I've been waiting in your lobby for you to get your skinny butt down here!"

"What?" Beckett replies in confusion, one arm awkwardly jammed into a sleeve and the other pinning her cellphone to her ear. "Lanie, I'm not going to the precinct or a crime scene…"

"No kidding," Lanie says flatly. "You're heading to the hospital, and we need to get going if I'm going to talk your way through before visiting hours start. Now get out here, I'm on your floor and holding the elevator doors for you."

Chagrined, Beckett hangs up, finishes donning her coat, and starts to leave without her pocketbook until she tries to lock her door and doesn't have her keys. Lanie laughs at her return trip for the pocketbook and her subsequent bumbling efforts to lock the apartment door, providing a running monologue until Beckett finally joins her in the elevator.

"Here, girl," Lanie says while handing over a tall cup of coffee, "you'd better get that brain working or fire-writer boy's gonna really mess you up."

Taking a long sip that covers ten floors of descent, Beckett sighs in relief before opening her eyes to address this morning's curveball. "Lanie – what are you doing here?"

"I'm riding with you to see Castle, obviously," she says while shaking her head, then moving to hold the doors back as the ladies exit the elevator and move toward the door. "You need a buffer right now, a wingwoman. If things are going okay, I'll make myself scarce. If not, then having me there will help keep things cordial."

"Yeah, right," Beckett says in a huff as they reach her car and she walks around the front to get in after unlocking the door for Lanie. "I'm not sure Castle's likely to see you as a neutral party."

"I don't have to be neutral," Lanie replies while rolling her eyes. "I just have to be a third wheel."

What really annoys her, Beckett realizes, is that Lanie's probably right. She's not sure how her reception is likely to go – Castle said only a handful of words last night before being whisked away to the hospital. She's confident that he'll understand she's not breaking their agreement about waiting until their lunch at Remy's to see him, since he's a material witness in her case. But having Lanie there might be a good idea. And, as she said, if her presence isn't necessary, Lanie can drift away.

Beckett's also still troubled by Lanie's revelations that Castle must've set this up before Bob asked him to leave the precinct. She's working hard to not jump to conclusions, though – his parting comments were too raw, too emotional to have come from someone who'd already disengaged. Maybe he took the tests as part of his character research, or maybe a 'guy he knows' helped bend the rules more than Lanie thought. Either seems more likely than Castle actively planning his departure without saying anything. As she did in her conversation with Alexis, Beckett decides she's going to focus on hope, rather than dwell on the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach that comes from imagining Castle planning to leave.

These thoughts occupy Beckett for the drive, and Lanie's either thinking about the same things or allowing her friend some time to think. After Lanie guides them to a side door where they can slip into the hospital, they make their way inside, sipping their coffees and enjoying the quiet. Beckett, in particular, uses the time to figure out how to approach her conversation with Castle, for once not worrying about the questions that pertain to her case.

"Okay," Lanie prods cautiously, leading them to the coffee stand so that Beckett can pick up her peace offering for Castle. "What if he doesn't want to talk to you?"

"Why wouldn't he talk to me?" Beckett asks in confusion, having overlooked this possibility. Hostility she's prepared for, or maybe reticence. But a flat refusal?

"Look, how long's he been gone?" Lanie asks rhetorically. "During that time, we've talked about him a lot, and if I can make an observation, your feelings about him seem to have changed quite a bit. Or maybe you've just gotten comfortable talking about them," she allows after it looked like Beckett was going to object. "He doesn't know about _any_ of that – all he knows is that a month and a half ago you were with Josh and he thinks you still are. Maybe he doesn't want to think about that. Maybe he wants to give his statement to Javi or Kevin."

"I thought you were coming with me to help," Beckett replies while sounding hurt, not liking the direction of this conversation at all. "If he doesn't want to see me, then I'll call Ryan or Esposito to take his statement. And then figure out what to do before lunch at Remy's."

"I'm not saying it'll come to that," Lanie says as she leads them to a hospital schematic to determine Castle's location. "I'm just saying that you're making some assumptions and you need to be prepared for a surprise. I mean, come on – was there _ever_ a six-week period while Castle was around when he didn't surprise you?"

Huffing a laugh, Beckett smiles and shakes her head, acknowledging the point. "Probably not even six hours."

Following Lanie through the corridors of the hospital, Beckett thanks her friend, both verbally and in her mind. It's a good reminder to take things slow with Castle. Sure, she gave him a rib-crushing hug last night, but he'd just escaped from a life-threatening situation and didn't look to be in complete control of his faculties. Better not read too much into that scene. And now that she thinks about it, when did Castle last speak to her? Not last night, when his ambulance was departing. And not when he left the precinct after the Cutler case. These recollections do not cheer or encourage her.

Lanie, still leading the way, slows as they approach a nurses' station. Ordinarily, this is where they'd be turned away since visiting hours haven't yet started. But Lanie's chatting with the nurses, explaining the situation and their desire to find Castle before other distractions arrive.

Moments later, they're approaching the door to room 526, behind which Beckett will find her long-lost partner. With only a short pause to collect herself, she knocks.

"Come in," they hear from the other side of the door before pushing it open. The ladies take a few steps before coming to a halt.

" _Sweet Jesus_ ," Lanie mumbles in awe, articulating what Beckett was thinking.

Castle stands before them in quarter-profile, barefooted and bare chested. His button-fly jeans are on but riding low and partially unbuttoned, with his abs pointing like an arrow to the hint of dark curls below. Castle himself has his eyes closed as he holds a wadded up henley to his face, but they can't tell if he's smelling the shirt or biting it in pain. And there on his right bicep, flexed as he holds the shirt to his face, is the tattoo Esposito suspected last month – the outline of a flame, filled in with Celtic knotting where not displaying "FDNY" in neat, hollow block letters.

"Oh," Castle says while looking up from the shirt, which he doesn't lower. "I thought you were Brenda – she's finding me some footwear. All I had in the gym bag the captain brought by last night were jeans and a shirt of dubious cleanliness."

"Still, no welcome hug?" Lanie asks as she takes a step toward him, but Castle doesn't move.

"Rain check?" he asks sadly. "I can't really move. I think I pulled every muscle above my waist."

"Well, I'd be happy to pull every muscle below your waist," Lanie replies cheekily, causing Castle to laugh, which makes him wince, which makes him laugh. His alternating chuckles and flinches make them all smile, even as Beckett elbows her friend for flirting with Castle.

"Are you okay?" Beckett asks, still smiling despite being taken aback by Castle's state of partial undress and the landscaping that it reveals.

"I'll be fine," Castle answers easily, his wince belying his current state. But before Beckett can decide on whether she wants to push, a short knock precedes the door opening again.

"Oh, you poor duck," the nurse says as she bustles in. Slightly past middle age, she looks like a loving aunt or young grandmother, full of smiles for her unruly boy. "You just _had_ to try to do this on your own, didn't you?" she scolds as she walks brazenly towards him and threatens to poke his stomach.

"I didn't want to be a burden," Castle answers with a perched brow. Brenda guffaws immediately, revealing that Castle's hardly held himself in check during this visit.

"Suck it in," Brenda commands with a finger pointed at his stomach. As he does, she leans forward and buttons up his jeans. "There," she says with satisfaction. "Shirt next," she commands as she claims the lump of material.

He lowers his arms slowly as Brenda bunches up one of the sleeves. The process reveals the new breadth and definition of his chest, which prompts Lanie to return the elbow shot from her friend, in case Beckett was somehow missing the show.

"Left arm first," Brenda says, slipping the bunched-up sleeve around Castle's wrist before running the shirt up to his shoulder and slipping his head through. "Now the tough part," she says apologetically, stepping to his right side to help him lift his arm and force it through the sleeve. Castle grimaces but remains quiet as Brenda steps behind him to tug the shirt down his back.

As the shirt finally falls free and leaves Castle clothed, Brenda takes a half step back, holding her hands before her with index fingers and thumbs extended as if framing a picture, focusing on Castle's behind. Then, following a wicked smile and a wink at Lanie and Beckett, Brenda bustles over to a cabinet.

"Perhaps one of your friends will offer to give you a close shave," Brenda says in a teasing voice, looking at the stubble on Castle's face. "I don't think you want to nick up those lovely cheeks with your clumsy arms."

"Brenda," Castle answers with a wicked look of his own, "both of these ladies have put up with far too much from me to be trusted around my neck with a razor in hand."

"Oh," Brenda answers in mock confusion. "You'd rather trust them to shave you somewhere else?"

Castle huffs a laugh at having been outplayed, then winces again in reaction. "Tough love isn't therapeutic," he pouts, getting a playful tap on the cheek from the nurse in reply.

"Poor duck," Brenda says again while unwrapping a cellophane package, "maybe this'll encourage you not to barbecue yourself," sounding not at all sympathetic before crouching low. "Now, step into these. They're disposable flip-flops that I nicked from Rehab. Not much, but they'll get you home."

Standing again, Brenda hands him a clear plastic bag with some bundled up clothes, presumably what he was wearing beneath his gear last night. "Personal effects are inside, along with your discharge papers and prescriptions for the same light painkiller and muscle relaxant you've already taken. Now, get out," she says with mock severity. "Dolores from Information called and said a bunch of suits just asked where you were. If you really want to slip out of here, you need to get gone."

"We can give you a lift, Castle," Beckett offers nonchalantly after offering him the coffee, which he happily accepts despite his discomfort at using his arm. After a soft, heartfelt "Thanks" and a kiss to the cheek, Castle bids Brenda farewell and starts a stuttering walk down the hallway, leading them away from the elevator and toward the stairs.

"I've got a ride," he says quietly as they pass another hospital room. "The car service is waiting downstairs."

"Not Martha or Alexis?" Beckett asks, surprised that his redheads would let Castle see himself home.

"They don't know about what happened yet," he grunts as they approach the stairwell door. "There's _no way_ I was gonna tell Alexis about this while I was still here. I wasn't expected home until this morning anyway, so we'll talk when she gets home from her sleepover."

Wincing, Beckett disabuses Castle of his fantasy before he walks into a buzz-saw. "Castle, if she doesn't know by now, she'll know soon. You made the papers," she explains as he groans. "Some of the residents who had to flee the building took pictures. Some video, too."

"But it was dark," he groans, "and chaotic. How'd they even recognize me?"

"That's my fault," Beckett confesses, looking down the take refuge behind her hair. "I kind of yelled your name when I figured out it was you."

"I thought I imagined that," Castle says quietly, also avoiding eye contact. "Well, Sal will be happy, at least until Alexis kills me." At confused looks from Beckett and Lanie, he explains. "Salvatore Cassano, the Fire Commissioner. He's been riding me for months to give the FDNY equal time. I'm sure he's thrilled – he's been anxious for my new job to go public. He's probably one of the suits on the way to my room now," he says, casting a nervous look down the hallway before giving the stairwell door such a baleful stare that Beckett steps up and opens it for him so that he need not move his arm.

"You don't want to stick around?" Lanie asks in surprise.

"Lanie, I'm just going to go home, crawl into my enormous tub, and lay there under the jets for _hours_ ," Castle says with a tone of almost sinful longing. "Then I'm going to eat, take some medicine, and do it again. _Then_ I'll worry about dealing with all the fallout."

"I hate to do this to you, Castle," Beckett says apologetically, "but I need to take your statement. We can make it quick…," she starts to say as they enter the stairwell and Castle's tackled by a sandy-haired blur.

Castle squeaks and whimpers miserably as the woman burrows into him, but she's too tearful to notice. An attentive Lanie helps catch his coffee before it tumbles to the floor while Beckett shifts into a defensive stance in case this stranger needs to be removed. With both hands free, Castle winces and wraps the woman in close with gentle arms. They look comical – even with paper-thin flip-flops, Castle towers over the woman by at least a foot and seems three times as wide.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," Lanie and Beckett hear the woman whisper around tearful gasps. "You saved him."

"Shhhhh," Castle coos, trying to help calm her. "Tommy's fine. The doctors say everything looks great, so don't worry," he assures her. "He's getting the best care. He'll be back up and annoying you in no time," he teases, getting a teary laugh in reply. After her breathing evens out a bit, he pulls back to get a look at her face. "You were trying to sneak in ahead of visiting hours," he guesses, getting a guilty blush in reply.

"Lanie, are you up for smuggling Shannon in to see Tommy? He's across the hall from where I was, in 529," he explains. Shannon looks shy and embarrassed, but hopeful.

"Of course," Lanie says kindly. "We'll get you past the nurses. Come on, Shannon."

"Thanks, Lanie," Castle replies thankfully as he receives his coffee back from her. "You can take my service back home – the car's out back, just tell them I gave the all clear. I'll get a ride with Kate?" he says while casting Beckett a questioning look and getting a quick nod in return.

Minutes later, Lanie and Shannon are on their way to Tommy's room and Castle's heading down the stairs at top speed, which is very slow.

"I'll take you home, Rick," Beckett offers, not noticing the stumble in his step at her offer.

"I'd prefer not to talk at home," he says quietly, growing frustrated with the sluggish motions of his body, which reveal that any hurts suffered yesterday weren't limited to his arms and torso. "As soon as I'm in the door, I'm heading for the tub. And regardless of what you might've seen in the press, I don't give bathroom interviews."

Beckett just huffs at this, as every conversational reply that comes to mind is too risky given the state of their relationship right now. Instead, she tries to come up with a solution. "Maybe the cafeteria here? It's still early, there shouldn't be many people around." Even as she says it, she knows that it's a bad solution since it's too open and exposed. But she's sure he lacks the energy, and probably the interest, in going to the precinct right now.

"How about your cruiser?" Castle suggests. "It's been a while since I've been poked in the ass."

"Really?" Beckett asks in surprise. "I guess Maddie was exaggerating with the stories about the Aegis party, then."

Her dry delivery makes Castle laugh, which again causes secondary whimpers and grunts. "Not cool, Beckett, don't make me laugh."

"Turnabout, Castle," she answers with a smile, delighted in sharing a light moment with him. "How many times did you pull laughs out of me at inappropriate times?"

"Not nearly enough," he answers wistfully, pausing for a rest on the landing of the stairs.

* * *

"Rick, wake up. You're home," Beckett says while reaching out to touch his shoulder, hand freezing mid-way when she remembers that any jostling is likely to cause him more pain. She's starting to think of more creative ways to wake him when he rouses, probably alerted by the lack of motion. They're in his parking garage, hidden from prying eyes, parked in the spot utility trucks use to remove the building's dumpster. No exactly great ambiance, but none of the spaces were vacant and considering that each one costs more than a house in the suburbs, their owners would be quick to have her car towed, police vehicle or not.

"Sorry, Beckett," Castle says slowly as he tries to bring himself fully awake, a process not helped by the medicine he received at the hospital. "Didn't mean to nod off."

"Of course," she says kindly. "You needed the rest. Maybe we should hold off on the statement?"

"No, I want to get it over with," he sighs, shifting slowly in a vain effort to find a more comfortable position. "I wasn't kidding about that bath. Once I go in, I don't want to come out for a very long time."

"Okay," she relents, pushing any mental images or additional offers to help aside, "we'll keep this brief so you can get inside," she says as she sets her phone out to record their conversation. "Why don't you start by telling me what happened last night, then we'll circle back for questions."

Nodding, Castle takes a few minutes to compose his answer. Then, with his eyes closed and head propped against the head-rest, he spins his tale.

"Last night was crazy," he begins. "We got four calls, all around the same time. As usual, I was in reserve, back at the firehouse," he says, and Beckett clearly hears his frustration. "But then the fourth call came in and we had to roll. We were there in ten minutes. People were already coming out and pointing, telling stories about the maniac who was threatening to burn the building. Well, he'd already made good on his threat, since there were already visible flames."

"We started setting up," Castle continues. "We didn't realize it was a hostage situation at first," he says sadly. "We were still laying out hose when there was a gunshot, and a scream," he explains, eyes closed again as he remembers the scene. "Tommy – Thomas Sampson – ran for the door when he heard the shot…"

"That wasn't you?" Beckett interrupts, blushing when she realizes that her surprise is now recorded. "You stayed with the truck?"

"Only until I realized that Tommy was going in," Castle admits with a sad smile. "Couldn't stay at the truck with him taking off like that. You saw Shannon – she'd be a wreck if anything happened to him."

Beckett takes a deep breath and shocks herself by holding her tongue. It would be so easy to ask how Alexis, Martha, or she would react if something happened to him. But she doesn't want him to be defensive, either for the statement or for their conversation.

"It was Hell inside," Castle says in a haunted voice. "They were upstairs, but he must've set the fire downstairs. So, we had to go through the flames to get to the stairs," he explains, voice going monotone as he recalls the scene. "Tommy was still ahead of me. He burst into the room upstairs without stopping to think. He surprised the guy, who turned and fired three shots. The last one caught Tommy."

Castle pauses for a few moments to collect his thoughts again. Beckett doubts he's noticed it and she's not going to point it out, but he's panting again, almost as if reliving the events of last evening.

"Tommy went down," Castle says in a low tone. "But he'd been moving when he was shot. The shooter tracked him as he slid, which meant that he wasn't watching the door when I came in. He was aiming at Tommy again when I hit him."

"Is this the man?" Beckett asks, pulling a folder off her back seat and showing pictures of Meghan Malloy's ex to Castle, who opens his eyes but leaves his head reclined. At his nod, Beckett aloud. "For the benefit of the recording, you just positively identified Travis Long as the man who shot Thomas Sampson. You said you struck him?"

"That's the man who was in the room," Castle confirms. "But my choice of language was poor. I should've said 'tackled,' not 'hit.' I rushed him and drove him into the wall. With all my gear, that's almost 300 pounds that collided with him at speed. He dropped the gun and slumped to the floor. I pocketed the weapon, untied the woman and decided to worry about the boy once we got out, then tried to figure out how to get us out of there before the whole place burned down."

"Meghan Malloy and her son Sean were bound?" Beckett asks, alarmed but not terribly surprised.

"The woman – Meghan? – was taped to a chair. She looked like she'd been attacked." He pauses, already knowing that Beckett's going to need details. "Her shirt was torn and her lips were bloody. Right eye was swollen shut. Her hair was a mess but that could've been from the commotion or panic about the fire."

When Beckett doesn't follow up, he returns to the narrative. "The boy just had his hands taped behind his back. I didn't have time to get him untied or find a knife. I tossed the lady over my shoulder, cradled the boy, and went to grab Tommy. But then the man got up. I thought he was going to come after us," he confesses, his worry from last night apparent here in the car as he remember. "But he just went and sat in the chair where he'd tied up the woman. He was still sitting there when I stumbled out."

Castle pauses again, during which Beckett waits patiently. "I couldn't risk it," he confesses brokenly. "He might've slowed us all down, or even attacked," he says slowly. "So I just left him there to die."

That he was an abusive murderer trying to kill others doesn't seem to temper Castle's guilt. He sounds so brokenhearted, so bereft, over having left someone behind. Beckett remains quiet, but very carefully places a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"There's not much to say about getting out," Castle continues, eyes still closed. "There was fire and smoke everywhere. I kept worrying that the stairs would collapse beneath us, or that we'd be buried in tumbling debris. If we weren't heading down and if the stairs didn't point right to the door, I'm not sure I would've made it," he confesses before his eyes shoot open in alarm. " _Don't_ tell Alexis about that part," he says in a panic, receiving a gentle squeeze of her hand on his shoulder in affirmation.

"Just when it seemed like I couldn't take another step, we were through the door. The team helped me get out, then I was pointed to a gurney. You know the rest," he says, exhausted and leaning back into the car seat again.

With another squeeze of his shoulder, Beckett removes her hand and uses it to close down the recording app on her phone. "Thank you, Rick," she says softly. "That's enough for now. I'll let you get some rest, then we can talk if there're any follow-up questions. For now, let's get you to the loft."

"Are they okay?" he asks. "The Malloys?"

"They have some problems, both due to her assault and smoke inhalation. They sent her to NYU, which has a better unit for her injuries," Beckett says gently. "Espo should be with them now, so we'll get an update soon."

Castle's already tired and sore, and this news doesn't invigorate him. In fact, he's moving so slowly and with exaggerated care that he doesn't object to Beckett's help. She doesn't try to hold his arm or make contact, but she's there to open the car door for him before he can blink, then beside him on the way to the elevator.

"Are you up for one more question?" Beckett asks softly after pushing the button to call the elevator that will take them to the ground floor, where they'll transfer to the elevator that will take them to the loft.

"Fire away, Detective," Castle answers, eyes closed again as he sways in place. His fatigue almost prompts Beckett to postpone her inquiry, but just as she's about to swallow her curiosity he turns to look at her.

"How long had you been planning to leave… the precinct?" she asks, barely managing to use 'the precinct' instead of 'me' in her question.

"I never planned to leave," Castle sighs, head drooping. "Sal started hounding me right after _Heat Wave_ came out," he recalls with a grimace. "He was pissed that the NYPD was getting all the attention, especially for a character named Heat, and kept pressing me to consider options with the FDNY. I've been playing with possibilities since then – you know, maybe livening up the books with some of the rivalry between the departments or something like that, or just going in a different direction with a different character. Sal was only too happy to help with my research, let me take the tests to get a feel for life in the FDNY."

"I _knew_ it was for research," Beckett mumbles as they board the elevator, happy that she hadn't raced to the worst conclusion.

"It was," Castle agrees. "But when the DA situation came up, and… everything else," he says vaguely, anxious not to get drawn into an emotional topic when he's so run down, "Sal pointed out that I'd passed all the tests and could join up. Seemed like a good option," Castle finishes with a shrug that causes a flinch, which he tries to disguise as a move toward the elevator doors that are opening before them.

Waving to Eduardo's weekend replacement, Beckett pushes the call button for the residential elevator while Castle shuffles over quietly.

"Is that why Bob was okay with you going to the FDNY – because there was no patronage involved?" she asks quietly, in case Castle's keeping his new vocation quiet from his neighbors.

"Yeah," Castle agrees as he steps into the elevator. "It's not completely safe for him, but he blessed it as an apology for what happened at the precinct. Being an employee makes things different. And just in case anyone complains, I get paid, but my salary is donated to the Widows' and Children's Benefit Fund. That way, I'm still an employee, and I'm still covered by insurance. And I still have to pay my union dues," he complains with a smile.

"Good," Beckett replies, trying to keep things light, "I'm sure those pension and retirement benefits will come in handy. But _please_ ," she begs, "don't test the healthcare benefits again."

Castle huffs again, and flinches again in response, as he shuffles off the elevator. "No argument here. But I think my days on the line might be done," he says, sounding sad. "After last night, we'll see if Sal or Ben let me out again. Well," he says while rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands, "I'll worry about that later. For now," he says as he approaches the door, "I just need to rest."

Beckett remains quiet as Castle reaches for the bag of his belongings that she's carried from the car. As much as she wants to talk to him about more personal matters, he's clearly in no shape to handle that talk now and has pretty clearly shut down the conversations that could've provided a jumping off point. Soon, she promises herself. She can already picture them at Remy's.

Very slowly, Castle roots through the clothes until he reaches the pocket of his pants, from which he pulls out his keys. It only takes him a few slow tries to slot a key into the door, and his look of relief is palpable.

"I'll leave you here," Beckett says carefully, trying not to overstep, "if you'll be okay inside?" Seeing his small, grateful nod, she amends her previous plan by one small degree. "But I have one request first," she says, with a shy look.

"Beckett," he replies, sounding exhausted and bereft. "I can't talk now. I'm just not…"

"I know," Beckett interrupts gently. "We can wait to talk at Remy's," she promises. "But you could've died yesterday, Rick. I've waited _so long_ for our lunch and you would've missed it," she says while trying to joke but getting a little choked up. "Can I just have a hug? I promise I'll be gentle."

Castle looks torn. Beckett can't tell if it's because of how things are between them or because of the pain he's feeling. But she stands tall, waiting patiently until Castle turns fully toward her and slowly opens his arms. As gently as she can manage, she wraps her arms around him and promises herself that this won't be her last chance to enjoy his embrace.

* * *

"'I'd be happy to pull every muscle below your waist'?!" Beckett repeats incredulously into her phone.

" _What_?" Lanie replies innocently. " _Did you *see* that man_? _I'm sorry Kate, but you had your chance. There's just something about a fireman...,"_ she trails off, clearly engaging in a little not-so-innocent daydreaming. _"Besides, he's what I ordered from the man menu, remember_? _Extra shoulders and hold the boxers_? _I forgot to request the bad-boy stubble, but the chef knew my order anyway._ "

"Knock it off," Beckett laughs. "And don't get any ideas."

" _So, things went well, then_?" Lanie prods, not willing to let this slide.

"We didn't really talk," Beckett sighs. "He wasn't in good shape. Friday," she says hopefully.

" _I assume you'll have plenty to tell him by then_?" Lanie prods again.

"I will," Beckett answers confidently. "I think I'm finally ready."

* * *

"Detective Beckett," she hears Montgomery say from behind her, "will you join us please?"

Looking up from her paperwork, it's the expression on her teammates' faces that catches her attention before she turns. Warned that something's amiss, her expression is guarded when she turns and rises from her chair to see Mayor Weldon standing in Montgomery's office. With a shrug and a hopeful look to the boys, Beckett heads directly into Montgomery's office.

The men wait until Beckett takes a seat before they join her. Attention shifts immediately to the mayor, who looks like he's anxious to talk.

"I've just come from a meeting with DA Turner and Commissioner Cassano," Weldon explains without preface. "Even if he wasn't already in trouble," Weldon says with a smile, "the events of the weekend, and the subsequent press coverage, have finished any of Turner's plans involving Rick. Your presentation was a tremendous help," he finishes with a nod to Beckett.

Sharing a quick look with Montgomery, Beckett can't help but to smile at this turn of events. The smile fades, though, as she thinks about Commissioner Cassano's presence at the meeting. "But he's still got another month with the Fire Department, right? I can't imagine they're going to let him go after all the press they got this week."

"No," Weldon agrees, "Sal's not going to let him go. In fact, he's already making noise about extending Castle's tour. He tried to leverage that today, the asshole," Weldon grumbles. "But a friend of yours helped us work out a solution."

"Bob," Montgomery interjects, sensing something's amiss, "what's going on? Can Castle come back or not?"

"I'm afraid that's another good news, bad news situation," Weldon answers, looking at Beckett as he recalls their first meeting following Castle's departure. "That's why I wanted to come here and explain in person. Rick committed to stay for one quarter – that's 13 weeks that happen to end on May 28th, the Friday before Memorial Day Weekend. He's on the hook until then, at least."

Montgomery and Beckett nod. While disappointing, this news isn't completely unexpected, though Beckett doesn't like the ominous reference to 'at least' in the mayor's comment.

"Do you know how the FDNY runs its shifts?" Weldon asks. "It's a little crazy," he admits when they both shake their heads. "Each company assigns a firefighter a group number. The schedule rotates – if your group is up, you're working. If not, you're off," he explains. "Day tours run 9 AM to 6 PM, night tours run 6 PM to 9 AM. The cycle changes a bit, but usually a firefighter does two consecutive day tours, followed by 48 hours off. Then two consecutive night tours, followed by 72 hours off. Within firehouses, fighters can pair up with a partner to trade shifts. That happens a lot, so people can work 24 hours followed by 72 off."

Noticing that both Montgomery and Beckett seem to be glazing over, Weldon cuts to the chase. "The bottom line is that Rick can arrange things to free up blocks of time in the next four weeks. Sal finally agreed to let Castle's captain, a guy named Costa, arrange his schedule so he can rejoin the NYPD when he's off-shift. It won't leave him much time for writing or sleeping, but he can catch up on both when he plants his lazy butt in a beach chair out in the Hamptons."

Beckett's about to thank the mayor when she sees the stony look on Montgomery's face. "It's no secret that you and Sal aren't exactly friendly," her captain says, "and it sounds like he was giving you the business today. Why'd he agree to let Castle come back?"

"That's the bad news, I'm afraid," Weldon confesses, "and where your friend helped us out. Having Castle work Homicide while he's still at the FDNY doesn't make sense…," he starts to explain before Beckett interrupts.

"How does it not make sense? We just overlapped on a homicide case!"

"Which only happened because your suspect attacked someone far out of your catchment area," Weldon answers calmly. "No, Sal's got no interest in letting Rick work Homicide. But he has a large interest, both directly and in terms of publicity," he says, and Beckett feels her stomach drop in anticipation, "in tasking Rick to join an ongoing NYPD arson investigation."

"Let me guess," Montgomery interjects, sounding thoroughly irritated at having been outmaneuvered. "Sal was happy to have Castle join the arson investigation being run out of the 28th precinct."

"That's right," Weldon says, surprised by Montgomery's knowledge of other precincts. "I'm sorry I couldn't swing his return to the 12th right away, but this move will keep everyone happy and get Rick back in the NYPD fold. Besides, I hear good things about the captain of the 28th, Mateo Mendoza. Working there's got to be better than having Rick at the Fire Department, right?"

* * *

"Hey, Beckett," Ryan calls over to her. Looking up while wondering what else can go wrong this week, she wonders if they've pulled a case over what was supposed to be her lunch break, during which she was going to commiserate with Lanie. Instead, she sees Ryan pointing to Montgomery's office, where he stands with a windmilling arm, trying to encourage Beckett to get into his office quickly.

As she hops over to his door, she sees Montgomery signal for silence. Creeping in quickly, she watches Montgomery crinkle the paper in which his sandwich was wrapped to obscure the sound of her entrance.

" _Am I on the damn speakerphone_?" Beckett hears Mateo Mendoza, captain of the 28th, complain.

"Sorry, Teo," Montgomery replies while rolling his eyes at Beckett, "but you called during lunch and I'm not going to waste my sandwich."

" _You hustlin' to get out the door by 1:00 for your spa appointment_?" Mendoza laughs. " _Well, it doesn't matter. I just wanted to call to make sure there's no bad feeling about Castle joining us_ ," he says as he laughs again.

Putting the phone on mute, Montgomery turns to Beckett. "Bastard always liked to gloat. You wanna stay for this? Maybe we can figure out what he's up to."

Nodding quickly, Beckett watches Montgomery unmute the phone again. "As I understand it, you've got Castle for a month. Less, actually," he adds with a wink to Beckett.

" _Whadya mean, less_?" Mendoza objects. " _Sorry, Roy, but I cut a deal with my good friends Bob and Sal_ ," he says with another hooting laugh, somewhat at odds with his earlier comments about politicians. " _Castle's here until he stops foolin' with his firehose. And I'm sure he'll stay on after that_ ," he finishes confidently.

"You don't know Castle," Montgomery assures him. "He'll help catch your arsonist long before he's done with Sal," Montgomery says confidently. Then things'll be back to normal."

" _I've done some research since our last call_ ," Mendoza replies, suddenly sounding more focused and serious than he had during their previous talks. Beckett and Montgomery exchange a look at the change in tone. " _I found the mayor's presentation on Castle's effectiveness very interesting. Seems like a useful asset to have around the precinct_ ," Mendoza mentions in a leading voice. " _Seems like a pretty popular guy, too._ "

"He's got a lot of friends," Montgomery replies, counting himself among them, while Beckett rubs her forehead as she contemplates how their project backfired. "Friends who'll be happy to see him back where he belongs."

" _I don't know about that_ ," Mendoza replies. " _Don't sound like he left much behind. I bet he makes new friends pretty easy. And despite being FDNY, there's more'n a few people interested in partnering up with him for the arson investigation_. _It didn't take much research to figure out who his new partner should be_. _He won't know what hit him_ ," Mendoza cackles.

"He's perfectly capable of picking his own partner, Teo," Montgomery says in annoyance, before he's cut off.

" _Yeah, he's no dummy. I hear Beckett's quite a looker_ ," Mendoza laughs again. " _But she ain't got nothin' on Renoux. And you know what, Roy_?" Mendoza asks rhetorically. " _I'll make sure she won't start bangin' somebody down in Burglary while she's partnered with Castle_."

Instantly furious, Beckett's on her feet before she realizes that she's moved. Montgomery looks alarmed, waving with both hands to help her remember to keep quiet. Nice to keep these things private, she thinks savagely, as she wonders about the most painful ways to disembowel Demming.

"Careful, Teo," Montgomery says in a low tone that holds more menace than Beckett could've imagined from her boss. "Our friend DA Turner's learning the hard way what happens to people who can't act appropriately and treat people with respect in their professional positions. And it'll be a cold day in Hell," he seethes, "before I let you disrespect my people."

" _Always the proper captain_ ," Mendoza mocks in return. " _Well, you run along and be the good boy, and see where that gets ya. I've gotta get some orientation materials put together_ ," Mendoza gloats _._ " _You take care of your people, and I'll take care of *mine*_."

* * *

With a feeling of dread, Beckett looks down at the caller ID on her phone the next morning. Given how this week's gone, she expected this call. But she doesn't need to take it here.

Grabbing her phone and hustling toward the stairwell, she's already on her way to the exit before she accepts the call, trying to keep her voice calm and measured. "Hey, Castle. I was hoping you'd call."

" _Hi, Beckett_ ," Castle answers, sounding a little surprised by the warm greeting.

"You sound tired," Beckett interjects before he can continue. "Night shift again?"

" _Yeah_ ," Castle says with an exhausted huff, surprised that she's figured out how his rotation works. " _Tonight, too_."

"Which means three days off afterward, right?" Beckett asks, laying the groundwork for the delay she can feel in the offing.

" _From the Fire Department_ ," Castle answers with a sigh. " _But not from my new assignment_."

Standing on the street outside the precinct, Beckett allows herself a deep sigh while formulating a deep blue curse for Mateo Mendoza. "So, you start at the 28th tomorrow?"

" _Today, actually_ ," Castle answers, sounding embarrassed. " _Late this afternoon on my way to the firehouse_."

"Castle, you need to rest. What you're doing – in either place – is too dangerous to do without sleep," she says gently, deciding to be noble. "Does this mean you're back on the day shift on Tuesday?"

" _I'm only a bit offended_ ," Castle says while sounding just a bit like his old self, " _that you figured out my scheduling faster than I did. So, yes, back to day shift next Tuesday and Wednesday, unless I trade with someone to block time for the arson investigation_."

"You know, I was really looking forward to our lunch, Rick," Beckett says quietly. "There's a lot I'd like to say to you…," she says leadingly, hoping that he'd jump in with similar sentiments. When he doesn't reply, she forges ahead while swallowing her disappointment. "Why don't you get some sleep, Rick," she says gently, toeing a piece of dirt on the sidewalk. "Sleep through lunch. You're going to need the energy. Then we'll do dinner at Remy's on Tuesday night."

" _Tuesday night_ ," Castle repeats, and Beckett consoles herself by thinking that he sounds at least a bit hopeful. " _If it's okay for a Detective to be seen with a firefighter in public_?" he asks, apparently forgetting about last year's disastrous outing.

"Oh, Castle," Beckett teases in reply. "Of course it is. I'll even pick you up at the firehouse. Besides," she adds with a wink in her voice, "you're not really a firefighter. First and foremost, you're a writer," she says with certainty, before growing more shy. "My writer."

" _Six thirty_?" he asks, and even if his tone isn't as warm as she'd hope, he still prompts a smile simply by not refuting her possessive comment.

"It's a date."

* * *

A/N: Posting early by request and because my plans changed a bit and I'm now looking at a long drive with two kids, a dog, and a cello (sounds like a horrible sit-com). I'm not sure about the wireless options where we're going, and getting feedback on the way helps pass the time on long drives, so fire off a note if you get a kick out of this chapter.

Not sure when the next one will post. I'm trying to complete this story before we go on vacation in early July. It's not likely, but the effort is keeping me focused. I've also got a little two- or three-shot queued up behind this one, something much lighter but also set in S3. We'll see.

Finally, the facts: Salvatore 'Sal' Cassano was the FDNY Fire Chief in 2006 and Commissioner from 2010 through mid-2014, but he was appointed by Mayor Bloomberg, not Mayor Weldon. I think the shift information, as explained by Weldon, is accurate for the FDNY, though it seems like there's some volatility due to headcount, special events, and other scheduling variations.


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional. Also, you'll recognize some dialog in this chapter. Some has been borrowed directly while some had to be bent a bit to fit the shape of this story. Hold on tight.

* * *

 **Week Ten**

Beckett's got her cellphone in hand, powering it up as soon as the wheels touch the tarmac. She's been in such a fog, such a state of rage and despondency, that she's amazed she even made it to the airport with a bag. She was somewhere over "the middle" – Nebraska, maybe? – when she realized that her departure eliminated the chance of meeting Castle for dinner. She'll criticize herself for her lapse later, when she has the luxury of time and thought. For now, she'll explain to him that something big came up, beg his forgiveness, and try to convince him to reschedule.

By the time her phone connects with the local cell network, her row is standing to disembark. Not a moment too soon, she thinks, anxious to be away from her large, chatty seatmates and the teething infant who kept her awake for the duration of her flight. Still, she dials Castle's number as she wrestles her bag from the overhead bin. The phone picks up after three rings, but drops the call immediately. Looking at her phone in confusion, Beckett wonders why she didn't get voicemail. She dials again, and again her call is dropped.

She's tugging her bag up the jetway while dialing Castle's loft number when she hears his voice. Looking again at her phone – since she hadn't yet finished dialing the number – Beckett's surprised to hear his voice again.

"Beckett," he calls out again, coming up the jetway behind her will pulling his rollerboard.

"You were on my flight?" Beckett asks in surprise. "In _coach_?"

"I got there with about two minutes to spare," he complains as he tries to rub out the creases in his sportscoat. "Had to take what they had left. Maurice better treat me right after that flight," he grouses, though Beckett has no idea who he's talking about.

"Castle," she says, shaking her head clear of this surprise, putting away her delight at seeing him to focus on her reason for sneaking out of New York. "What are you doing here?"

"You were supposed to call me if you had an emergency, remember?" he asks as he approaches, not breaking stride.

His comment snaps her back into focus. "Castle, you cannot be a part of what I'm going to do here."

"You mean your ' _vacation_ '?" he asks with a roll of his eyes.

"Back off, Castle," Beckett replies as the more infuriating parts of his personality that she'd been overlooking come back to her now. "It was one thing for you to follow me when we were partners…"

"When we were partners," Castle cuts in while waiting for her take position next to him and pointing down the concourse to where they'll collect a rental car, "I deferred to _your_ area of expertise. We both know that doing something stupid is _my_ area of expertise."

"Is that why you're here?" Beckett asks aggressively as they stride away from their arrival gate, "Because you're doing something stupid?"

"I'm here," Castle answers with a sigh, "because my friend needs help, even if – as usual – she won't admit it. _Anything else_ ," he says quickly when it looks like Beckett's going to interrupt, "can wait until we're back home."

Beckett wants to fight, wants to argue. She's here to find justice for Royce and she needs to stay focused on that goal. But she's also alone, far outside of her jurisdiction, and probably risking her job, if not her career. She can't deny that having a friend could make all the difference. And as she's helped prove, Castle can be an effective contributor to an investigation. It's not until they're approaching the rental counter that she admits to herself that Castle's presence here is a blessing – at least for Royce's case and maybe for her hopes as well.

"How did you know?" she asks quietly, hoping he'll understand what she's saying with her question.

"I'm very tempted," Castle says with a twinkle in his eye, "to say that I felt a disturbance in the force." He seems both pleased and saddened by the roll of her eyes. "I know a guy," he answers with a shrug as he approaches the VIP line of the rental car counter, where the happy attendant greets him by name.

Montgomery, probably, Beckett thinks. Though it could've been Espo or Ryan, too, given their recent attentiveness to Castle. Hell, for all she knows, her letter from Royce wasn't the only one he'd written…

She's about to ask Castle for details when bits of the conversation she's ignored filter into her head. "A convertible Mustang?" she asks incredulously. "And what do you mean, one driver?"

* * *

"… I was so in awe of him, Castle, when I first met him," Beckett confesses late at night in their suite. Building theory with him for the first time in two months feels right, especially on a case for Royce. Having Castle at her side again makes her nostalgic, and thinking about Royce hastens the reminiscences. "I just hung on his every word. And then later I realized he was just making up stories to mess with me," she smiles in bittersweet recollection, then thinks about the similarity with Castle. "I can't believe I'm never going to see him again."

Castle gives her an intense look, opening his mouth to reply. He seems to reconsider, though, closing his mouth again and taking some time to think. "I'm sorry, Kate," he offers quietly, fumbling awkwardly to provide some comfort. "There's no way to ease the pain of losing someone you've loved, as you know better than anyone." He pauses, wondering if the reference to her mother was a mistake, but is heartened by her attentive look.

"But you know the secret," he whispers, enticing Beckett's attention even from her mournful thoughts. "You use it, you build from it. The depth of your strength, your heart… that's where it comes from."

"I don't want to do it again, Castle," Beckett admits while swiping away a tear that tried to run down her cheek at his words. "I'm tired, Rick. So tired," she confesses, looking at the hands clasped in her lap. Then, marshalling her courage, she looks up into the depths of his eyes. "I'm tired of losing the people I love."

Having faced his own mortality just more than a week ago, Castle nods along. "Then keep him safe, Kate. Protect him," he says, voice cracking. "Love him."

The last two words seem to break something in Castle. He looks unwilling to say anything more, unwilling to even stay here lest more be said. Following the siren's call of his bed and blessed sleep, Castle pushes himself up to make his way to his room.

Beckett's gentle touch on his arm stops him, freezes him in place. He stares at her hand with an unknown intensity, leaving Beckett wondering if he wants her to hold him tighter or let him go.

"I'm trying to love him, trying to protect him," Beckett answers, and Castle's head falls. This is not what he wants to hear.

"But he's stubborn. He's on assignment for another month," Beckett continues while Castle thinks about physically removing her hand and leaving the room, "and I'm afraid that he won't talk to me before then. That he might try to forget about me by then."

As much as he's trying to ignore her words, that last bit doesn't make sense. His brow is still wrinkled in confusion when she talks again, her hand on his arm sliding down to clasp his hand.

"I haven't treated him well," she explains as her hand squeezes his, "but I'm trying to follow his lead. Giving him the space he needs so that when we're done here and when Sal and Mendoza and Renoux are done with him, I can ask him for another chance."

In other circumstances, Castle's befuddled expression would be cause for humor. But before Beckett can even think to react, Castle finally makes sense of her comments and his reaction doesn't prompt laughter. Dropping her hand and taking a large step backwards, Castle looks desperate to put a little distance between them.

"What about Josh?" Castle asks, grasping for the first question that occurs to him.

"I haven't seen Josh in weeks," Beckett answers honestly, keeping her tone light to hide her alarm at his reaction. "And I haven't been with Josh since you held me tight and pulled all the wires."

"I'm sorry," Castle says in reply, almost sounding genuine. "I know that's what you wanted. I'm sorry it didn't work."

"I was kidding myself, Rick," Beckett answers again, keeping her eyes on his, which still look disturbingly guarded. "I was using him to hide. His frequent absences were the reason we worked, not the reason we fell apart."

"That's…," Castle starts to say, before biting his words, unwilling to continue. The expression on his face suggests he dislikes the taste of whatever he's holding back, but Beckett wants to hear it anyway. Waving her hands, she invites him to let it fly.

"That's pretty cold, Beckett," Castle charges, invigorating her with both his comment and his insistence on using her last name to keep some distance between them. "I thought he was your one and done," he says in a defeated voice, running a hand through his hair in frustration at finding himself in the middle of this conversation.

"I _never_ said that," Beckett reacts immediately, incensed. "I said I wanted to see if he could be. And _you_ provided the best tests, _Rick_ ," she charges in return, using his given name in defiance of his attempt for distance. "I tested your theories – more than I'd do in our casework, right? But I told you I was thinking about what you said, I was trying to listen. And you were right – he didn't know anything about me. Didn't care anything about me."

"Is this supposed to make me feel better?" Castle asks incredulously. "The guy you chose over me turned out to not be so great? I can only apologize so many times, Beckett, especially when I'm not really sorry."

"Stop saying that!" Beckett yells in reply, striding over to Castle and staring him down. "When, exactly, was I supposed to realize that your flirting signaled something real?" she demands of him before pressing on, not waiting for an answer. "I didn't choose him over you. I only started up with him because you were with Gina!"

"I only went back to Gina because you were with Tom!" Castle yells in reply, meeting her stare-for-stare.

"I only started dating Demming…," Beckett yells back, until her volume and fire both die down in anticipation of this confession, "… because he wasn't you."

For the second time in this brief conversation, Castle looks stunned as he takes a moment to make sure he heard her correctly. His low growl of frustration signals his confirmation, followed shortly by spinning on his heel to head to his room. Again, his progress is arrested by her hand on his arm. This time, though, he refuses to turn back, refuses to look at her.

"Until you barged into my life, Rick," Beckett confesses in a low tone, "I didn't want anybody. I didn't want a true partner, didn't want a real family. The closest I came was with Will," she says, and Castle's head falls again as he wonders how he can possibly get her to stop talking about other men, "and only because he was even less interested in those things than I was."

Beckett tugs his arm, but Castle doesn't move. Even with her fancy training, Beckett lacks the mass and the leverage to spin Castle in place. It's a petty point with which he consoles himself.

"I was all about finding mom's killer," she continues, ignoring his physical intransigence. "Anything else was a distraction. That was until I met you," she says quietly. "Until you went after Coonan with me, for me. Until you invited me into your home when I needed a safe place."

Giving up on him turning, Beckett walks around him, never loosening her grip on his arm but swinging into his line of vision. "You've made the loft a paradise, Rick. It's crazy and frenetic and loud and perfect. It's a place so filled with love and joy that it's easy to see why Alexis and Martha float through their days there. But I thought I was drowning. I couldn't see how I could be a part of that without letting go of everything else. And I wasn't ready to let go."

"And you are now?" Castle scoffs in reply. "Beckett, you flew out here on a moment's notice, in direct defiance of your boss, to avenge Royce. You'll be gone like a shot at the hint of a development on Johanna's case. It's who you are. I've never had any illusions about that."

Wishing she could deny his charge, she knows she can't. From his reply, she also knows that she's not making her point very well. Time to be blunt, she decides, rather than risk more miscommunication. "It is who I am," she admits earnestly, "and it's who I want to be. But that doesn't mean I can't be more. I've been thinking since you left, Rick. You were right. I've never thought about being with someone who could share my life, share my emotions – someone who could accept my need to find justice for mom and maybe even help. I've always feared a distraction, but in doing so, I've turned my back on the most important person in my life," she says by way of apology, reaching up to let her other hand join her first, so that both are touching Castle.

Castle's look of contemplation unnerves Beckett. If she spoke her feelings well, he shouldn't need to think. But he's wrestling with something, almost begging for clarification, until he finally speaks.

"So, that's it?" he asks, surprising Beckett, who's not sure what he's talking about. "I check the boxes. Knows about mom. Check. Could help me on my quest. Check."

"Castle, no," Beckett reacts quickly in horror. "That's not it at all…"

"I can't do this, Beckett," he says with sad resolve, stepping away from her again. "I've been loved in spite of myself before. I know how it ends," he says sadly. "My marriages didn't survive it, so I don't know why you think our partnership would."

"Castle, stop," Beckett answers, heartbroken that this conversation has gone so wrong. "I love _you_ , Rick, and I know who you are."

Shaking his head, Castle refuses to believe her admission. "Don't embellish what we have to secure what you need. I always said that I'd do whatever I could to help your mother find justice, and I will. Always."

"Don't you _dare_ ," Beckett answers with quiet fury, "try to sully our word. That is _not_ what you were promising when you told me 'always' and you _know_ it."

Castle bows his head, admitting Beckett's accuracy in calling him out. "What I meant doesn't matter," he tries instead. "One foot out the door, remember?"

"No," Beckett answers resolutely. "Not anymore. Not with you."

Lifting his head to give Beckett the saddest smile she can recall seeing, Castle shrugs. "I wish I could believe you, Beckett. For a long time I've wanted nothing more. But I've spent two months trying to get over you and my heart's already in tatters. You know me – have I ever gone one foot in? To _anything_?" he asks rhetorically. "No, I jump in with both feet, usually without looking. I'm tired of getting hurt as a result."

"You're wrong about me, Rick," Beckett promises. "You're wrong and I'll prove it."

"By sneaking into my life, converting my mother and daughter to your cause?" Castle laughs mirthlessly. "By making it impossible for me to ignore you?"

" _You're_ going to give _me_ trouble about insinuating myself into your life?" Beckett asks with a look of sheer incredulity and a hint of a teasing smile. "Did you forget where you've been for the two years before you left?"

"I haven't forgotten," he answers quietly. "You don't have to worry about that, Beckett," Castle says with a sigh. "I said I'd help you with your mom's case, and I will. If you want me to come back to the precinct, I will."

"You haven't been listening, Rick," Beckett replies, driving her point home with a fierce look. "Not once during our conversation have I suggested that any of what I've been talking about is about the precinct. I want you in my life," she says simply.

"But Montgomery said you were trying to get me back to the 12th," Castle answers with some confusion.

"I'd like to see you there, too," she confesses. "But it's most important that I look to my side and see you there."

"Don't," Castle replies tiredly while raising a hand, weary in body and spirit. "Don't make promises. Don't dangle hope. Just… don't," he says brokenly as he steps around her and finally slips into his room closing the door softly but definitely behind him.

"You'll see, Rick," she says loudly, a vow to him and herself. "You'll see. It may have taken me too long to get here, but I'm not giving up on us."

There's no answer from Castle's closed door, but she's confident that he heard her. She turns to her room, a burst of optimism encouraging her to leave the door cracked in case he returns.

Turning to her end-of-the-night routine, Beckett's looking at herself in the mirror when she hears his door open. Moving quickly to her door, she's disappointed to see him in shorts and a t-shirt, clearly heading down to the gym. It should be closed, but of course Maurice has probably already anticipated Castle's desire for a late-night workout. Still, she consoles herself as she watches him slip out of their suite, she's clearly given Castle much to think about.

Perhaps too much. He still hasn't returned when Beckett nods off nearly two hours later.

* * *

"Castle, wake up!" Beckett says with some urgency as she bounces on the bed next to him.

"Whazzit? Earthquake?!" an exhausted and still-jet-lagged Castle says while bolting upright in bed, looking adorably mussed and befuddled. Not realizing the havoc she's primed, Beckett finds herself swept from the bed as Castle lurches into motion, tossing her over his shoulder without a blink. She's about to hammer on his back and demand to be let down when she realizes that Castle was sleeping in the buff and her perch on his shoulder affords her a perfect overhead view of his ass.

She's still admiring the slope of his lower back as it moves downward when he lifts her again, spinning her on the way down so that she misses the main show. "Stay here!" he barks as he leaves her in the doorway to his bathroom, spinning to whip a large towel around his waist. That task completed, he's back to the doorway in an instant, putting his arms around her and his hands on the doorframe to loom over Beckett from behind to protect her from any falling debris from the "earthquake."

"Castle, stop!" Beckett tries to command, though a few highly uncharacteristic giggles mar her detective's tone of control. "There's no earthquake," she says while ducking under his arm and moving back into his bedroom. "I woke you for a disaster of a different sort."

"Oh," Castle answers, still coming awake but alert enough to blush radiantly red as he looks down at his towel. "Sorry," he mutters, rubbing a cheek to wake himself up and to hide his embarrassment.

"I'm not," Beckett says with a gentle smile. "Can I set a similar wake-up call for tomorrow?" she fires off, watching him just long enough to see his blush darken and hear him muttering before turning her attention to the television.

"I kept it on the free channels, if that's what you're checking," Castle grouses as he moves to the closet to grab some clothes.

"Good to know," she says as she turns the television on and navigates to the channel of interest. "Boring, but good to know," she says with a bit of a teasing tone. "This is it! Come watch," she says, patting the bed next to her.

Castle emerges from his bathroom in shorts and a t-shirt donned hastily and backwards. Taking a seat next to Beckett, he's careful to leave a gap between them. He's still wondering what's going on when the television commands his attention.

" _For those viewers joining us late, we now offer a repeat of the news conference from earlier this morning_ ," says a beautiful blonde talking head, " _where embattled District Attorney Philip Turner was expected to offer his defense against the growing list of accusations of sexual harassment, inappropriate behavior, and transmission of sexually explicit material. Instead_ ," the woman says, fanning viewers' incredulity that there could be a more interesting topic, " _we heard something else entirely. Here's the press conference, originally broadcast at 9:00 AM Eastern this morning_."

With that, the broadcaster turns to look at the screen behind her, which grows to fill the television screen in Castle's room. As native New Yorkers, both Beckett and Castle recognize the outside view of the DA's office. But neither recognizes the man who steps up to the podium.

" _Ladies and Gentlemen, my name is Ira Stein_ ," the man says into the microphone. " _I am DA Turner's personal attorney, retained by him to assist in clearing his name against the scandalous rumors with which his political rivals have attempted to besmirch the honor of one of New York's most dedicated public servants_."

"I need coffee," Castle moans, wondering why he was woken early, and alarmingly, for this. Beckett shushes him with an elbow nudge.

" _As part of his effort to demonstrate the falsity of the allegations posed against him_ ," Stein continues, working the crowd like a pro, " _DA Turner instigated a top-to-bottom review of the DA's office. His goal, of course_ ," Stein says with a ten-thousand dollar smile for the camera, " _was to demonstrate that the behavior of the entirety of his office, as well as of DA Turner himself, has been above reproach_." At this, Stein dramatically lowers his head while shaking it in dismay.

" _Unfortunately, the investigation unearthed evidence of corruption within the DA's office. Though he never told me who warned him, DA Turner did confide that he had reason to believe his quest would reveal that a criminal launched his career_ from this very office," Stein says dramatically while Beckett raises a hand to her mouth in reaction.

" _DA Turner knew his findings were explosive, maybe even deadly_ ," Stein says. " _So, why isn't he here, you might ask? Why isn't he bringing this news to us himself? As some of you might have heard, DA Turner is presently at the NYU hospital in critical condition after suffering a one-car accident early this morning_ ," Stein says in low tones, as if breaking bad news to a demoralized electorate. " _I've heard slanderous words whispered in response – suicide, drunken stupor – all false_!" he shocks people by nearly shouting into the microphone.

" _No, DA Turner is far smarter than that_ ," Stein says with a feral smile while raising a hand. " _I hold in my hand a copy of the video that was recorded by the additional cameras DA Turner installed in his car. It shows, definitively, that DA Turner's car was run off the road by a vehicle registered to private security firm Orantis Solutions. I have provided copies of this tape, and other information gathered by DA Turner, to the NYPD and FBI_."

" _Why the FBI, you might ask_?" Stein continues, though there's frenetic activity off to the side of the camera's shot, captured only in the margin of the screen. " _I've been asked by the authorities not to comment. But I'm free to encourage you to ask yourself: what kind of crimes, what kind of criminals, require the intervention of the FBI_?" Stein asks rhetorically while a dour-faced suited man steps into frame to approach the attorney. " _Remember this_!" Stein says authoritatively into the microphone. " _Remember this moment weeks or months from now when it all comes crashing down. Remember who lit the first match, who knocked over the first domino_! _It's the man you're currently trying to hang, the man who still serves this city from his sick bed. Remember_!" Stein says again as he's hustled away from the microphone.

" _So, quite the mystery for our friends in New York_!" the blonde talking head summarizes as she returns to the screen. " _Or quite the smokescreen. We'll keep our eyes on New York and let you know. In the meantime, let's cut to Miami, where a gruesome discovery has authorities wondering if there's a serial killer on the loose_ …"

Beckett clicks off the television, leaving the room in silence while she and Castle digest the possibilities of what they just heard.

"Montgomery knows something," Beckett says quietly. "He's been encouraging me to have a look at the DA's office. As part of the way for clearing your return," she says shyly, recalling how their conversation went last night.

"I should call Bob," Castle replies, not entirely trying to avoid Beckett's point, but instead worried about his friend and the ramifications this might have for him.

"Say hi for me," Beckett says with a small smile as she rises from the bed. "Then get over to my room – Maurice found me a whiteboard, so we're all ready to finish this," she says resolutely. Castle smiles at her confidence and nods in acceptance, before turning to pull his phone from its charger to check in with the mayor of New York City.

* * *

"I'm gonna miss this place," Beckett admits as watches a porter gently place her bag into the trunk of the Mustang before walking around to the passenger door, which Castle is holding open for her. "And I'm going to miss Maurice," she adds with a laugh.

" _Everybody_ misses Maurice," Castle says warmly as he slips behind the wheel and fires up the car. "That's how you know he's the best. That, and his willingness to assist with clandestine, extra-jurisdictional police investigations, of course," he says with a laugh, looking carefree and buoyant now that they're sporting around in the Southern California sun. It almost makes Beckett regret that they're heading back to New York.

In deference to their last tense discussion, Beckett doesn't try to prompt a conversation as they wend their way to the airport, instead throwing her head back and arms wide as if trying to soak up as much sun as possible before boarding the plane. Castle still seems lighter, though he's using the quiet to think. She recognizes his usual tells easily, after seeing them for years – the tapping foot, the finger on his jaw, even the way he moves his mouth when he's not aware he's trying out dialog in his mind. Warmed by this familiarity, Beckett simply lets herself drift, thoughts coalescing around topics for discussion during the plane flight home before flitting off again.

But it's still Southern California, so it takes them more than an hour to make it to the airport despite mileage that would suggest a much quicker trip anywhere else. When they finally arrive at the airport, she regrets that her first words to him have to be a correction.

"Castle, that was our turn back there," Beckett says lightly, not wanting to start an issue about driving. "We need to return the car."

"Not yet, I'm afraid," Castle grimaces. "That'd make for a long walk to San Bernardino," he chuffs out. At her look of confusion, he offers a shrug and an explanation. "One of the _many_ disadvantages of having a real job – two actually," he laments, "is that I had to pull some strings, make some commitments, to secure the time to come out here. It's time to start paying off my debts."

"In _San Bernardino_?" Beckett asks, as if she couldn't imagine a worse fate.

"Costa's got a buddy out there," Castle explains, "someone who can supposedly provide some insights on the arson case," he says with a huff. "He's probably just working on a screenplay he wants to pitch," Castle grouses, "as if _Heat Wave_ provides any pointers on a competent conversion from book to film. Anyway, after I meet with him, I need to talk to someone in Chino's correctional facility. If I catch the red-eye flight tomorrow night I can be back in time for the day shift at the 28th and the night shift at the firehouse," he adds, sounding exhausted in anticipation.

"But…," Beckett stutters, having not anticipated this development. "I was hoping we could use the flight back to talk," she says shyly. "Five hours with no external distractions would've done us some good," she says hopefully.

"I'm sorry I didn't warn you," Castle says, and the apology sounds real. "To be honest, I've been trying to slip out of it. But Costa and Mendoza are riding me tight. Bastards," Castle mumbles, pulling a small smile out of Beckett. If her plans for a talk were torpedoed, at least it sounds like Castle's not on the same page as Mendoza.

"The perils of working for a living, I guess," Beckett allows, pulling a smile from Castle as he glides up next to the curb at Beckett's departure gate. He's out of the car and at the trunk before she can blink, pulling out her bag for her and extending the handle in what she thinks is solicitousness, not a desire to hasten their parting.

"Thank you, Rick," she says as she ignores the bag and stands directly in front of him. "I know you heard me, heard my promise," she says, reminding them of her talk. "You'll see," she promises again, lifting her arms slightly in question. With a look of surprise, Castle raises his arms and invites her in for a farewell hug.

She can still feel the hard planes of his chest, the weighty bulk of his arms around her back, when she watches him pull away from the curb and into the choking traffic. Repeating her promise to herself about experience that hug again, she turns and heads to the e-ticket kiosk, where she's unsurprised, but very thankful, to find that someone's bumped her into first class.

* * *

"Your mom is hilarious," Castle says with a smile, reclining in the lounge chair as he watches the sun set from the Malibu back yard of Fred's family home. Taking another pull on his beer, he shoots Fred a cross look. "She'd be perfect if only she liked my books!"

"She doesn't _dislike_ them," Fred tries to salvage, before laughing, "she's just not much for mysteries. But dad is! He's a big fan," she assures him. Sure that he's being mollified, he cuts Fred a skeptical look and gets another laugh in reply.

"They were both great," Castle allows after feigning a sour look. "I can see where you got your stunning looks and your humor."

"Thanks," Fred says, tipping her bottle in his direction. "They were both thrilled to meet you. They've heard stories…"

" _Please_ tell me they were stories from you, not the newspapers," Castle groans.

"You think you look better in my stories?" Fred looks, returning his skeptical look, then cracking herself up when he grumbles about never winning. "You're the first boy I've brought home since high school," she says with a laugh, "of course they were going to lavish you with attention."

"They don't give you trouble about…," Castle starts, but Fred cuts him off immediately.

"They're great," she says happily. "I couldn't ask for better. They like meeting my friends," she says with a smile, leaning out of her chair to clink bottles with Castle.

"This is one of the things that California has on New York, hands down," Castle says as he looks at the sun falling into the Pacific. "I've always been more of a sunset guy than a sunrise guy. And not just because the sun wakes at an ungodly hour," he clarifies to Fred's eye roll. "It just seems like the perfect end to a day."

"Well, at this beach house of yours I've never seen," Fred leads in subtly, "can't you watch sunsets over the sound?"

"You can," Castle affirms, his eyes still transfixed. "But it's not the same as the ocean. There's just something about the waves, the motion, the reflections. It's magic."

"It is," Fred agrees, sitting happily in her chair and looking out over the ocean. They sit there together for several long minutes, fascinated by the sinking sun, until she finally turns to him. "So, talk to me, Rick."

"About…?" he leads, before Fred makes a swatting gesture from her chair without leaning far enough over to actually connect.

"About the whole reason you're here! About why you came to LA to help a friend you were trying to avoid. About how it went, about what it means, about where your head's at. _Seriously_ ," she grouses, "all men aren't really this easily confused, are they?"

Castle huffs a laugh, then draws on his beer while he thinks about how to reply. Truth is, he's been tied in knots about what to do about Beckett since their conversation back at the hotel. He'd let himself think that things had reverted to normal when they returned to Royce's case – after all, isn't that how things always worked for them? But her dismay about being on different flights revealed that she wasn't distancing herself from her comments, at least not yet. Maybe Fred can help him find the clarity that's been so elusive.

So, Castle spends the next twenty minutes relaying the topics of the conversation, her offers and his replies. He pauses only once, to allow them to grab new drinks and to light the torches that provide flickering light now that the sun has set. And while Fred might not be an investigator, she's an excellent listener, and she knows him well enough to call him on his attempts to skip by or shorten some aspects of their conversation.

He feels no more focused, but generally relieved, once he's shared his recollections and thoughts with Fred. For her part, Fred seems lost in thought, pondering what she's heard. Again, they sit in quiet, enjoying the night air, until Fred signals her readiness to talk.

"I'm a little confused," she finally offers.

"Join the club," Castle grumbles, getting a huff in reply.

"You've always seemed like a pretty happy-go-lucky guy," Fred explains. "You've made mistakes, but you don't hide from them – the opposite, maybe," she says with a laugh that increases in volume at his eyebrow waggle. "In fact, it's distressingly common for you to repeat them," she finishes, looking prim.

Castle sits up at this, spinning in his chair to face her rather than the shoreline. "What? I'm usually very careful to find _new_ mistakes," he clarifies with a wicked smile.

"Gina!" Fred says as if coughing before excusing herself. "Meredith!" she coughs again, as Castle raises his hands in surrender.

"Point taken," he says with a blush.

"No, I don't think it is," Fred replies seriously. "You've continued to spend time with women who treated you poorly, who hurt you badly." Castle's about to interject when Fred plays her ace. "Women who've hurt or disappointed Alexis."

That comment knocks Castle back, makes him reconsider. "Meredith's her mom," he says in dismay. "And Gina tried to be. I can't just ban them."

"That's not my point," Fred says, getting frustrated with herself. "I don't understand why everyone gets a second chance except Kate," Fred says clearly. From his startled reaction, Castle clearly didn't expect this comment, and he takes some time to think about it.

"Because," he answers slowly, "no one can hurt me as much as she can."

"That's fair," Fred answers, looking pensive. "Inconsistent, maybe. Prideful, definitely. But fair."

"Prideful?" Castle asks, rolling the word around and trying to get familiar with it.

"What else would you call it, this concern about not being her first choice?" Fred pushes. "Was she your first choice, father of Alexis?" When Castle pauses to frame, then reconsider, his answer, Fred offers another question. "At what point did you decide she was your first choice – not for a roll in the hay, but for something meaningful?"

"Just before Demming," Castle sighs his answer. He wishes it were earlier, but the sad fact is that Tom Demming beat him to the punch – he can't really blame Beckett for ignoring his advances before then, because he can't honestly claim that they were motivated by love or affection, rather than lust. In fact, had he not acted such the cad in their first year together, Beckett might have been more willing to see him as relationship material. If that's what she even wanted, he reminds himself.

"But not long enough before for her to notice, for her to believe?" Fred pushes, causing Castle to regret how well she's come to know him.

"And now we know the sad tale of the Tom-Gina-Josh sequence of bad timing," Fred pushes. "Is that Kate's fault? Can you really blame her for turning to Josh after you'd turned to Gina?"

"I can blame her for how she treated me while she was with him," Castle answers, though his words sound petty and petulant even to his ears.

"Yes, you can," Fred agrees readily. "And her behavior when she was with Tom sounded pretty crappy, too. Kate's not a saint. I don't think she'd claim to be. She sounds like she's insecure, skittish, and a bit self-obsessed. That makes her human, Rick, just like the rest of us."

Castle goes quiet, thinking about Fred's perspective on things. It's a new one, he has to admit, and one that he's finding uncomfortable to contemplate. "I'm surprised," he says slowly. "This isn't how I expected you'd react."

Fred shrugs, then laughs. "That's your fault for seeking romantic advice from an oft-jilted lesbian," she says with a wicked smile, pulling a chuckle out of Castle. "Pardon my French, but you were a bit of a dumb-ass if you thought we'd see things the same way."

"That's fair," Castle chuckles, enjoying Fred's pithy rejoinder. "But, _even in context_ ," he stresses, "you surprise me."

"I don't see why, Rick," Fred answers with a shrug. "Look, I know she hurt you, but I owe her," she says, watching Castle's eyebrows shoot up. "If you hadn't left and taken your Lost Boys out for drinks, we wouldn't have met. You've become a good friend, Rick, and those are in precious short supply," she says while reaching a hand out to him. "So, Universe take note: I owe Kate Beckett a big favor."

"It's so cool that you talk to the universe," Castle marvels, earning a cross look.

"Focus," she says seriously, knocking him back on track. "I might owe Kate, but you're my friend. If I thought she was bad news, if I thought you were really over her, I'd do whatever I could to help you find someone else who'd make you happy," she promises, squeezing his hand. "But I can't get over this feeling that if you walk away, you're going to regret it. Yes, you might try things with her and get burned. But at least you'll _know_. If you walk away now, I think you'll always wonder. _Always_."

There's that word again, Castle thinks to himself as he turns and looks over the dark expanse of the Pacific Ocean. He's a writer haunted by a word. It taunts him, teases him, seduces him, promises him. And now it threatens him. Can he really walk away? Can he really not know the end of their story?

"Thanks, Fred," he says gratefully, turning back to her and lifting her hand to his mouth for a kiss. "You've given me a lot to think about."

"Well, come on," she replies, standing and using their connected hands to pull him to his feet. "You need to do your thinking in bed – you've got to be out _early_ to get all the way over to San Bernardino."

"That's something about LA that I _won't_ miss," Castle agrees, not looking forward to tomorrow's drives. "But how am I supposed to sleep now? My head's a mess. Ooh, I know!" he interjects, earning a pre-emptive eye roll, "You can tell me a bedtime story!"

"On our way inside," Fred replies indulgently. "I am _not_ going to let my parents catch me sneaking out of your room. They'd convince themselves I was bisexual and start trying to set me up with men again," she huffs, while Castle thinks that could be the start of a hilarious bedtime story. He's smart enough to keep that thought to himself, though, while they go about dampening the torches.

"Okay: non-fiction. Mark Hamill lives in the neighborhood," Fred offers as the start of her story. "His place is a couple streets that way," she points over her shoulder with her thumb, away from the ocean and up the side of the embankment. "He's _totally_ a Jedi," she says, sending Castle into the stratosphere in hero-worshipping delight. "I still remember about ten years ago, we had terrible wildfires. One came right over that ridge," she says while pointing up in the same direction she'd indicated for Luke Skywalker's house. "The fire came boiling down the hillside. As it approached his house the flames parted like the Red Sea," she says with a tone of awe. "Three houses around his burned to the ground – each was stucco with a tile roof. But his place – pine trees, wooden shingles and all – not even a wisp of smoke."

" _Seriously_?" Castle gasps, completely agog.

"Seriously," Fred confirms with a vigorous nod. "Trust me, the Homeowner's Association wouldn't screw with him after that, and that's as big a collection of Sith as you'll ever find."

Taking a look at him, Fred realizes the severity of her miscalculation. Kind of like a young boy put to bed with a ghost story, Castle now looks _far_ too excited to sleep.

"Fred…," he starts to ask.

" _No_ ," she says with a shake of her head. "I am _not_ going to tell you which house is his. Now get over here and give me a hug. You'll be gone before I wake up and I won't see you until I'm back in New York, where you're going to take me dancing again, right?" she asks pointedly, waiting for his nod. "Take care, little brother," she says while hugging him tight, using the title that her mother had found so endearing, "and sleep well. Don't worry about Kate. It'll all work out."

* * *

A/N: Only one note this time: the Hamill anecdote above is legit – he must be a Jedi. I only messed with the timing, since this happened back when I was in college (which was more than ten years ago, even with this story set in 2011). The bit about the Homeowner's Association is made up, but seems likely based on my experience.

Not sure when the next update will post, since I'm having very little luck writing or reading this week. I've only got one chapter left in reserve, as I'm still stuck on the beginning of chapter twelve. I'll work it out and post ASAP.


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional.

* * *

 **Week Eleven**

This time, Beckett's careful to leave her menu open and raised until after Lanie's made her selection.

"Thank you," Lanie says with a smile, fully aware of Beckett's careful patience. "See, wasn't that easy? Take your time, consider your options, decide what you want…"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Beckett replies as she lowers her menu. "And then once my personal life's in order, I can decide what I want to eat. You're preaching to the converted, Lanie."

"I don't think so," Lanie replies cheekily. "If you were converted, you'd be dining with Castle, not me."

"Kind of hard, Lanes," Beckett replies with a shake of her head as she takes a sip of ice water, "when he's still in California."

"He stayed?" Lanie asks in surprise. "He wanted to fly back alone?"

"No," Beckett answers easily. "He had some work to do out there related to his investigation. He had to talk to someone in the fire department, then with an arsonist in lockup. With luck, he'll be back tomorrow."

"With luck," Lanie adds, "you'll still be employed tomorrow. Javi said your boss is _not_ happy with you."

"He's not," Beckett agrees. "That's why I didn't rush to get back. I'm hoping that the crushing amount of work from the DA's office will help convince him not to suspend me."

"Might as well get something good out of that whole situation, huh?" Lanie asks to emphasize the point. "So, tell me about California. Not the case – I heard about that from Javi. Tell me about you and Castle. Any naked sexy times?" she asks mischievously, delighting in Beckett's scandalized reaction as she looks to see if anyone overheard.

"Lanie!" Beckett whispers harshly. "Knock it off. There were no _sexy times_ ," she nearly growls as her cheeks blush a lovely shade of red.

"You know what I find interesting about your reply, Detective Beckett?" Lanie asks, completely unaffected by her friend's admonitions and enjoying her chance to run an interrogation. "You didn't mention the _naked_ part." Lanie smiles wolfishly as Beckett's deepening blush suggests an interesting story.

" _Fine_ ," Beckett whispers after several moments, looking annoyed. "I saw him naked," she confesses, causing Lanie to look surprised and impressed. "But not the right way."

Lanie's look quickly changes to confusion at this odd statement. "I'm sorry," she replies, perplexed. "I didn't realize there was a right and wrong way to be naked."

"We had connecting rooms," Beckett explains, "and I shocked him when I bounded in after hearing about the DA's press conference. He bolted awake in surprise, thinking there was an earthquake. Before I could blink, I was on his shoulder and on the move to the doorway."

"Where was he going?!" Lanie asks.

"Just to the doorway. That's where you're supposed to shelter in case of a quake, according to him," Beckett answers with a small smile.

"So he was escorting you to safety while naked?" Lanie asks, cracking up. "That's sweet. And hot."

"You want to hear the hot part?" Beckett replies, leaning in close and blushing again after making sure no one is eavesdropping.

"That he was sleeping naked while in an adjoining room?" Lanie guesses. "He's never been terribly subtle."

"No," Beckett answers with a smile. "He was up late and spent a while in the gym. From his adorably mussed hair, I'd guess that he took a shower and just collapsed into bed."

"Well, if that's not the hot part you'd better explain," Lanie hoots with wide eyes.

"I was off his bed and onto his shoulder in a heartbeat," Beckett whispers. "He lifted me like I weighed nothing. Same when he let me down, even as he was spinning me around."

"So, you had an overhead view?" Lanie asks, picking up her menu again and using it to fan her face. When Beckett nods back naughtily, Lanie laughs. "Not bad," she allows.

"No, the bad part was not correcting his misimpression earlier," Beckett confesses. "But what was I supposed to do? First, he's naked and tossing me around," she says while looking around again to make sure they're not being overheard, "then he's crowding up behind me wearing only a towel to protect me from falling debris."

"Kate," Lanie whispers seriously, "you should've _waited_ for an earthquake," she says with a laugh. "Or maybe caused one of your own…"

"No," she allows as she sits back and takes another sip of ice water. "He was pretty embarrassed, and things between us weren't good," she says, surprising her friend. "We'd had a rough talk the night before."

"Oh, Kate," Lanie answers, leaning her head back and shaking it while looking to heaven above. "What happened?"

"I told him I loved him," Beckett admits, shocking her friend into silence. It's at that moment their server arrives to take their orders. A young man who looks at Beckett hopefully, his interest is not encouraged by her crisp order or efforts to get Lanie to make a selection. Once Lanie engages enough to mutter her order, Beckett aims a peremptory "thanks" at the waiter to send him on his way. He finally gets the hint after she repeats herself.

" _And_?!" Lanie finally says, back in action and wanting to hear where this story goes.

"And he didn't believe me," Beckett answers sadly in a low voice.

"Oh, Kate," Lanie can't help but repeat, shaking her head at her friend's terrible luck. "So," she says with compassion, "now what?"

"Now I convince him," Beckett answers with conviction, still riding her wave of optimism. At least until she notices Lanie's look of concern.

"Why?" Lanie asks quietly and intensely.

"Why what?" Beckett asks in confusion when her friend says nothing more. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Lanie answers, looking nervous, "are you trying to convince him because your feelings are that strong, or are you trying to convince him because you can't believe he'd move on?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Beckett asks, more hurt than offended. "You think I'd chase after him just because I couldn't handle someone saying no?"

Lanie's reaction doesn't change in the face of Beckett's withering scowl. "What I mean," she explains patiently, "is that if you're not really serious about him, you need to let him go. That man believes in _anything_ – aliens, Bigfoot, ice bullets, whatever – but he was hurt badly enough that he didn't believe in _you_."

"I'm serious," Beckett answers in a low, confident tone. "I know what I want. That's what I told Josh yesterday."

" _What_?!" Lanie asks in surprise, sitting back in her chair. " _He's_ back in the picture?"

"No," Beckett replies easily. "He's back in town. He called last night to see if there was any reason for us to talk."

" _And_?!" Lanie demands for the second time in this conversation, starting to look irritated that she needs to keep pulling these admissions from her friend.

"And there wasn't," Beckett says with certainty. "We had our talk when I called him weeks ago and nothing's changed."

"Even though you and Castle haven't…," Lanie starts to prod before Beckett cuts her off.

"I know what I want," Beckett repeats quietly.

"Good," Lanie answers quickly, noticeably brightening. "I'm proud of you."

Rather than smile at the praise, though, Beckett looks pensive. "I thought about it a lot on the flight back," she says, speaking slowly as she recalls her ruminations from the journey back from LA. "I have hurt Castle," she confesses. "I guess I didn't really realize how badly until we were talking that night. He just looked so tired, so _wary_ ," she tries to explain, running a hand through her hair in frustration, then giving an annoyed sigh when she notices their waiter watching her.

"It made me think, made me wonder if that happens more often than I realize. We trade quips and jibes and he never flinches, so I swing harder. But now I'm wondering if he's just really good at hiding his feelings," she wonders aloud.

"You think he learned something from his mama?" Lanie asks, thinking about Martha's acting skills.

"Or maybe his ex-wives or schoolmates," Beckett wonders. "Somewhere along the way, Rick learned to take his shots without flinching. But now I'm thinking about some of the things I've said to him over the years… God, Lanie," Beckett admits, "without context, some of the things I've said would just look horrible if you wrote them down. And now I'm wondering if I didn't really understand the context."

"He's a big boy," Lanie replies, "he can fend for himself, and we both know why he kept coming back. But," she adds with a smile, "I don't think he'd mind if you let up on him a bit, maybe even showed him some actual affection."

"That's the plan," Beckett agrees, still looking a little glum.

"Then we should talk about what to do once he's back in town. Have you two had your date yet?" Lanie asks, still getting caught up.

"No," Beckett admits. "We've each had to bump it for scheduling problems. It's kind of in limbo right now. We've been texting," she confesses with a blush, "but things are a mess right now with him working at the 28th when he's not at the firehouse."

" _That's_ where we'll start," Lanie says definitively, interrupted by the arrival of the food that the waiter mixes up because he still can't look away from Beckett. "Hey," Lanie interjects, "I'm paying, so if you want a tip, you'd better spread the attention around there, buddy." Chagrined, the waiter focuses on his task, switches the plates, then bows himself away.

"You're paying?" Beckett asks with a grin.

"Absolutely. Which means I'm calling the shots," Lanie says with a mischievous grin. "So, tell me about these text messages, and I tell you what we're going to do about Castle…"

* * *

"Well, look who's slumming it with the commoners," Sully says as Castle enters the locker room, changing out of the clothes he wore to the 28th precinct. He's already exhausted – a pointless trip to San Bernardino, endless traffic, a redeye flight followed by a day of working the arson case and dealing with the braying ass who captains the 28th, and now he's got another night shift during which to deal with the inevitable fallout from his identity going public with his coworkers at the firehouse. That it was delayed for his hospitalization, working with cops, and sudden retreat to Los Angeles is probably just going to make it worse.

"Why in the hell," Dave's basso voice comes in from the other side, "does a rich guy take a shit job like this?"

"For the pleasant company, of course," Castle says with a winning smile, getting boos and catcalls as a result. He endures a few shots to the shoulder and even a slap on the ass on the way to his locker.

"You girls are overlooking the biggest problem," Big John calls out from his place on the bench. " _Mister Castle_ here," he says, over-enunciating Castle's name to sound pretentious, "owns a _bar_. So, all those times we went out for drinks and rich boy here was bitching about paying, he was too ashamed to take us to his own place."

This deduction prompts a low susurration of discontent, as Castle's colleagues look around to join in each other's sense of offense, turning disgruntled eyes to the beleaguered writer.

"I own a _cop_ bar," Castle answers, embellishing slightly. It's not really accurate to call the Haunt a 'cop bar,' but he does have a table set aside for folks from the 12th and he doesn't doubt that one table would be sufficient to start a good donnybrook. Mostly, though, he's been trying to keep the spheres of his life separate, ensuring that he has a place not home or work where he can retreat to how things used to be. "And I like my bar in one piece. Look what happened the last time we ran into a cop when we were out drinking."

"But you're the one who got into the fight!" Sully says with a laugh. The absurdity of Castle's well-aimed comment seems to prompt several chuckles, effectively deflating the disgruntlement resulting from his decision to obscure his identity.

"I saw your cop partner back where Tommy got shot," Dave cuts in again, sounding amused. "Seems like a perfect 'make love, not war' kind of situation there, Rick."

Definitely wary of treading that path, _especially_ in a locker room, Castle gives an aloof shrug, letting his silence speak for him. Just as he's patting himself on the back for shutting things down without engaging in a discussion, Matt, the closest thing he has to a nemesis here, rounds the corner, clearly having been listening in.

"Forget the bar," Matt says aggressively. "According to Google, our little celebrity rookie here owns a house in the Hamptons." He says it damningly, like a prosecutor parading his most incriminating exhibit, and it has some of that effect as the jury of his peers slowly turn to look at him as if he's somehow fundamentally different from them. _This_ is the reason he wanted to start as Rick Rodgers – how in the hell is he supposed to experience and be able to describe a sense of camaraderie if he's only considered an outsider?

Thinking quickly, he pulls the trigger on a possibility he'd been considering on the flights to and from LA. Well, not so much on the flight back, when his imagination was focused elsewhere. "Actually," he says confidentially, "I wanted to talk to you guys about that…," he starts, before he again notices the attention of the group shift. Turning in place on the bench, he finds himself looking at Ben Costa, who looks less than fully amused.

"Time to coordinate your social calendars later, ladies, when I'll have something to add," he grouses ominously. "Gear up and let's _move_."

Feeling guilty about his happiness that someone needs their help, Castle's joy at escaping his interrogation and actually getting back to the activity of his new job overcomes his fatigue as he hustles through the now-familiar process of preparing for a quick departure. With luck, he thinks to himself, the images burned into his mind from the Malloys' close call won't haunt his waking efforts as they have his dreams.

* * *

The FedEx guy is still waiting for the elevator to depart the precinct, escort at his side, when the box he delivered to Montgomery starts ringing. Having anticipated this development, the captain closes his door while tearing open the box, extracting the burner phone and getting everything set up.

He answers on the seventh ring. He might've been able to answer sooner, but seven's always been his lucky number and he can use any luck he can get if this call goes as expected.

"Hello," he says into the mouthpiece, knowing that starting with his name would be redundant.

" _We have a common irritant_ ," says the voice from his past, one that he'd hoped had left New York City, and its police department, long behind. Still, he reminds himself, you can't be surprised that rotten fruit falls after you shake the tree. Especially not when that was the plan.

"I don't agree," Montgomery replies. "I've already made him happy, so any irritation left is yours and yours alone."

" _I'm not talking about any piss-ant little election_ ," the petulant voice replies in consternation. " _That's nothing. I'm talking about the press conference, about whatever he thinks he found. Need I remind you that I'm not the only one who has something to lose_?"

"I'm well aware of possibilities and potentialities," Montgomery says easily, keeping this conversation moving while thinking about the fate of DA Turner, who's still in critical condition. "But it was your office, not mine. If he's an irritant, it's because you left something behind."

" _I know how to take care of myself_ ," the voice answers ominously.

"Obviously not," Montgomery interjects, again looking to stoke anger in an opponent. "Made any hiring decisions that've come back to haunt you lately? Maybe retained a private security company for some aggressive driving?"

" _I trust in the confidence of those who work for me_ ," the voice assures him, causing Montgomery to bite his cheek to avoid a telling reaction. " _They'll get nothing on that front. Nonetheless_ ," the voice continues, " _we need to know what he passed along to the Feds_."

This time, Montgomery releases his grim chuckle. "You can't be serious. All that'll do is draw attention."

" _Not if it's done right_ ," the voice replies. " _That office leaks worse than Congress. There'll be ways in_."

"For you, maybe," Montgomery pushes back. "You were there, you know people and where to look. I don't have contacts or a reason to be asking."

" _And yet, this is what I expect of you_ ," the voice replies imperiously.

"Then you expect too much," Montgomery replies.

" _Really_? _Have you forgotten the end-game_? _What do you suppose will happen if he actually finds something_?" the voice asks, aiming for a tone of conversational curiosity and instead sounding sophomoric.

Montgomery answers immediately and clearly. "I know exactly what'll happen. Your meteoric rise will suddenly stall. The other senators will stop taking your calls, and your committee assignments will suddenly find themselves dealt to the next rising political star. You, meanwhile, will have to walk the tightrope between keeping yourself out of prison while also convincing your _real_ constituents – the ones who have so much _invested_ in you – that you're worth the hassle to keep around. Because we _both_ know how they deal with failure. Or exposure."

" _And if they'll treat me so harshly_ ," the voice replies with menace, " _what do you think they'll do to you_?"

"Hire someone from Orantis, or some other pet privatized army, to kill me," Montgomery answers easily. "So, how might I ever avoid such a dire fate?" he ruminates out loud. "Well, for starters, you can rest assured that copies of this conversation will find themselves widely distributed for ready production in the event of my untimely demise. Using a burner phone, Senator, only stops the records. It does nothing to disguise your voice or location."

" _You've just made a terrible mistake_ ," says the voice of Senator Bracken. " _You had two ways to go with this and you chose the wrong one. Your paper shield won't protect you_."

"Maybe not," Montgomery admits. "But I've always been the chit you had in reserve, the back-up plan. I'm tired of waiting for my day of reckoning. So, now it's all in play. Perhaps you can take me out quietly and intercept the contingency plans I've made. But if you miss _even one_ , it's all over."

" _You can't go to the authorities,_ " Bracken sneers in reply. " _You just implicated yourself. Besides, you have nothing that'd ever see the light of day in a courtroom. I'm an_ attorney, _in case you've forgotten. You have nothing of evidentiary value_."

"Why would I need to turn to the authorities?" Montgomery replies easily, letting his complete lack of concern transmit itself across the phone lines. "I just need to turn up the heat. Because we both know, Senator, that you're still replaceable. Your keepers will prefer a marionette without damaged strings."

" _Marionette_ …," Bracken trails off, thinking. " _It was you_!" he marvels, finally catching on. " _You pointed Turner at me_!"

"I'd suggest, Senator Bracken, you tend to your own battles," Montgomery replies, refusing to answer Bracken's allegation. "Who knows? Maybe you'll find a way out and then we can all just walk away."

" _You know what's funny_?" Bracken asks, sounding whimsical. " _I thought I might need to adjust my plans. You've been a little too cocky lately, Roy. Strutting around, running your precinct, trying to make amends. I don't even feel bad about this_."

Bracken's words have hardly come through the line when another signal activates the detonator hidden inside the cellphone, causing a whumping sound in Montgomery's office that ends their call with an exclamation point but doesn't even rattle the windows.

"Well, shit," Montgomery says after turning off his recording equipment but before inspecting the remains of the burner phone, and the relay, he'd set up in the blast box on the far side of his office. He'll have to remember to slip that back down to the bomb squad after hours tonight. "That would've hurt," he says to himself as he pulls out some gloves and goes about adding the remnants of the burner phone to his growing collection of private evidence.

* * *

"Detectives," Montgomery calls from his office. "In my office, please."

Again, he moves off without waiting for them, so he's in his seat before Beckett, Ryan, and Esposito are at his door. Seeing that there's only the two usual guest chairs, the boys bolt forward to claim a seat. With incredulous, pointed looks from both Beckett and Montgomery, the boys sigh before offering one of the chairs to Beckett. Ryan waits for her to sit while Esposito ducks back into the hallway to return moments later pushing his desk chair. Once everyone is situated, Montgomery, who's looking fierce and out of sorts, puts his desk phone on speaker and dials without any explanation.

" _That you, Roy_?" Captain Mendoza's voice crackles from the speaker.

"Yes," Montgomery replies in a voice that reveals nothing, either to Mendoza or the detectives sitting in front of him. "I have Detectives Beckett, Esposito, and Ryan here. You said you had an update you wanted to share?"

At this comment, Beckett's eyebrows shoot up, and she's not the only one to look surprised. Mendoza hasn't seemed like the kind of guy to provide "updates," so something's definitely going on.

" _I got Detective Renoux here with me_ ," Mendoza replies, " _Castle's partner._ "

"So, you've made inroads on your arson investigation then?" Montgomery surmises. "Why isn't Castle part of this call?"

" _He's off stroking his hose somewhere_ ," Mendoza replies, huffing at his own humor and getting a scolding " _Captain_!" from Renoux on his end of the line. " _But we're shifting from investigation to manhunt_ ," Mendoza adds, " _and that ain't really his area of expertise anyway_."

"You have a suspect?" Beckett interjects, gladdened by the prospect of Castle finishing his assignment with the 28th so quickly.

" _Yeah_ ," Mendoza allows. " _You weren't kidding, Roy. That guy's weird as shit, but he seems to trip into useful information_."

" _Captain_ ," says Renoux on the other end of the line, clearly perturbed by Mendoza's less-than-respectful tone. " _He hardly 'tripped into' the information_."

" _That's Renoux_ ," Mendoza explains unnecessarily. " _Renoux, why don't you tell 'em what happened_."

" _Rick wanted to revisit some of the previous arson sites_ ," Renoux begins, and Beckett finds her hackles rising at the use of Castle's given name. " _He wasn't satisfied with some of the canvassing notes, thought they were_ ' _perfunctory at best_ ,'" she says with a laugh.

" _At the third site, there was a note about an older resident who was hard of hearing. We'd been hopeful that she'd know something, since physical evidence suggested the arsonist approached the site within view of her apartment. But she refused to say much, and what little she did say wasn't very kind_."

" _Ha_!" Mendoza interrupts. " _Renoux's softening things for your delicate 12_ _th_ _precinct ears. That knotted old bat was a total b…_ "

" _Captain_!"

"… _attle axe_ ," Mendoza cackles, having changed direction after provoking Renoux's objection.

" _Anyway_ ," Renoux continues, trying to regain her equanimity in the face of her boss' rough demeanor, " _Rick wanted to talk to her. She's apparently spent the time since her first interview thinking up new curses and imprecations, though_ ," she says somewhat ruefully, " _and he certainly got an earful. But he just laughed at all her insults, which made her try harder,_ " she explains while Beckett cringes at the description. _"I swear, the air was blue around her_."

" _Bluer than her hair_?" Mendoza cackles again, though this time everyone chooses to ignore him.

" _But while she was letting fly, Rick looked over her head_ …"

" _Not hard_." Mendoza, again.

"… _and saw a piano. It caught his curiosity – he said it was a quality instrument_ …"

" _Worth more than his car, he said_ ," Mendoza interjects again, prompting Ryan and Esposito to share a shocked look.

"… _and so he interrupted the resident, Mrs. Tremaine, to ask about it_ ," Renoux finishes, starting to sound perturbed by all the interruptions. " _Well, she was so surprised that he recognized the piano and ignored the insults that were blistering the paint off her walls that she just froze. So, Rick walks right by her_ ," Renoux says in a tone of awe while Beckett drops her head into her hands, not sure if she should be ashamed or glad that Castle's still oblivious to concepts like warrants and probable cause, " _and plays a few chords on the piano_."

"And she just stood there?" Beckett asks in surprise.

" _Until the first chord rang out_ ," Renoux says. " _Then she was furious. She stomped right over to him looking more fierce than any mugger or strung-out junkie I've ever seen_."

" _Than you've ever seen_?" Mendoza interjects yet again. " _You get many of those over in White Collar_?" he guffaws. Meanwhile, Montgomery and Beckett share a look at learning where Mendoza recruited Renoux, confirming that his criteria for selecting Castle's partner had little to do with previous arson experience.

" _Just as she's ramping up again_ ," Renoux continues, trying hard to keep irritation from inflecting her tone, " _Rick cuts her off_. ' _I know you're lying about not seeing or hearing anything before the fire_ ' _he said, right to her face. And then, just before she was going to defend herself, he offered her a deal_."

"She knew the arsonist?" Ryan asks in surprise.

" _No_ ," Renoux answers quickly, " _not directly._ _But there was the obvious question about why someone living alone in a crappy apartment with the near-deafness she'd claimed during her first interview kept a fantastically expensive piano in perfect tune. So, Rick thought he could use that_."

"What kind of deal did he offer?" Montgomery asks, this strange story seemingly pulling him out of whatever funk he was in when he invited the team into his office.

" _He offered a hand-job_ ," Mendoza chortles, " _but the old lady held out for dinner and a lap dance_."

" _Captain_!" Renoux nearly shouts in reply. " _That is a *gross* mischaracterization. He did nothing of the sort_!"

" _That's not how I read the report_ ," Mendoza answers and Beckett can nearly picture his shrug. " _But, please, Detective Renoux, kindly elucidate_ ," he drawls out, sounding ridiculous.

" _Rick sat down and started to play something from Gershwin_ ," Renoux says with a laugh, " _but Mrs. Tremaine shut him down immediately. She told him there was nothing wrong with jazz, as long as he played it alone in the privacy of his own home with the curtains drawn and washed his hands afterward_."

Despite her better efforts, Beckett can't help but chuckle, imagining a tiny old lady laying into Castle about his choice in music. She's not alone.

"So, what did he play?" Ryan asks, curious.

" _Nothing, at first_ ," Renoux answers. " _He asked her a few questions about what she liked, but she wasn't talking much. She gestured to the door when she was telling him that he had one chance to guess, and that's when we noticed her hands. She's so arthritic that even looking at the keys of the piano must hurt her terribly. I don't know why she continues to have it there when it must be a reminder of something she loved but can no longer experience_."

"That's probably exactly why it's there," Beckett says sadly.

" _That's what Rick said, too, later_ ," Renoux notes quietly. " _But, seeing her hands did the trick. He played the opening bars of Chopin's Waltz Number 7 while watching her face. He stopped, patted his thigh, and invited her to join him. She looked at him like he was insane, but he explained that's how he taught his daughter. She must miss playing very much, because it didn't take much from Rick to convince her. It was an odd sight – this wizened old lady sitting on Rick's lap, with her hands resting on top of his as he played. Oh, how she cried_ ," Renoux says before trailing off, lost in her recollection.

" _See_?" Mendoza ruins the moment by interjecting. " _Lap dance_!"

" _Rick played the waltz from memory_ ," Renoux recalls, ignoring Mendoza. " _He made some mistakes and the tempo changes were inconsistent, but you'd never have known it from watching Mrs. Tremaine's face. I don't know that I've even seen such a moment of bittersweet joy_." Renoux pauses for a moment, clearly taking more time to recall the scene.

" _They were quiet for several minutes afterward, Rick frozen in place and Mrs. Tremaine lost in her memories. But when she came back, she made the deal_ ," Renoux says. " _She agreed to tell us everything she remembered about that night in exchange for a promise from Rick_."

"She was a material witness, right?" Esposito asks. "Why not just bring her in instead of bribing her?"

" _One, I would never classify it as a bribe_ ," Renoux replies testily, while Beckett also shoots Esposito a reproachful look. " _Two, I've neither the interest nor the inclination to abuse the elderly. Three, she might be small, but she's pretty feisty. It might've taken an officer or two to bring her in, and they'd be the worse for it_ ," she ends with a chuckle. " _Much easier for Rick to clear the way_."

"What'd he offer?" Montgomery asks, rejoining the conversation.

" _He's gonna cook for her. Romanian goulash or something_ ," Mendoza says dismissively.

" _Captain, will you just stop_?" Renoux finally breaks. " _You're not funny and you're not helping_." When Mendoza doesn't reply, she continues. " _Rick has to play Liszt's Hungarian Rhapsody for her_."

"He can't play that," Beckett replies in surprise, though she's disheartened that she doesn't actually know how well Castle can play the piano – he'd offered her a recital when she stayed at the loft, but it had seemed too personal then. "Can he?"

" _No, he can't_ ," Renoux answers. " _There are professional pianists who struggle with that piece. Rick's going to be visiting her once a week for the next six as he tries to learn how to play it. I'm sure she picked something difficult just to ensure the regular visits_."

Oh, Castle, Beckett thinks. He must've been desperate to finish the arson case if he mortgaged more of his future, including some weeks that'll stretch into the summer, for a chance at solving it. "I take it his gamble paid off?" she asks of Renoux.

" _Mrs. Tremaine was just as nosy and interfering as you'd hope a stereotypical old lady might be_ ," Renoux answers. " _She noticed the sedan, the skulking figure, the timing. She even got us a partial plate_."

"And she was just going to sit on this?" Ryan asks in surprise.

" _I was pretty incensed, too, until we talked about it on the way back to the two-eight_ ," Renoux answers. " _It's wrong, but you can see where she's coming from. She's lived in the neighborhood a long time, since she and her husband immigrated. It's all she knows. Her husband is dead, she has no family, and she's nearly homebound. If the arsonist retaliated, she'd lose her whole world. But_ ," Renoux adds, " _I think she felt glad to have the excuse to talk_."

"So, you've got a suspect," Montgomery summarizes, to sounds of assent from Renoux and Mendoza. "That's the end of Castle's work there, then?" looking to discern the real reason for this call.

" _Well, that's what we wanted to talk about_ ," Mendoza admits, taking over from Renoux. " _He don't really seem very invested in working with cops any more. He hardly ever came into the precinct here, which doesn't make sense. I think the hose jockeys are making a play for him – he always seems to be over there_."

"And?" Montgomery prompts, looking both irritated and… happy?

" _And so I was thinking that we could team up_ ," Mendoza pitches, getting eye rolls and scoffs from the detectives in Montgomery's office. " _You know, a best-of-both-worlds thing where he could work Arson or White Collar over here and do Homicide over there with you. Better than having him join the fieries, right_?"

Expecting her captain to mute his phone and talk to them, Beckett's surprised when Montgomery replies immediately. "Thanks, Teo, but I think we'll hold. Castle'll do whatever he thinks is best. If he can hang with the young bucks of the FDNY and that's what he wants to do, we'll leave him to it. Now, unless there's anything else, it's close to my tee time."

* * *

"Captain?" Ryan asks after Montgomery disconnects the call minutes later, not having been able to slip away from Mendoza quite so easily. "I get why we're not throwing in with him," he says while pointing to the phone, "but you're not just going to leave Castle alone, are you?" Unable to help himself, he casts a quick look at Beckett even though the question was posed to Montgomery.

"From what I hear," Montgomery replies, letting his visage lighten a bit even if he doesn't quite smile, "as much as he enjoys running around with his gear, Castle and Sal aren't getting along all that well. Not a surprise, since Sal and Bob aren't on the same page. So, Castle must _really_ dislike Captain Mendoza if he prefers the firehouse to the 28th. There was _no way_ ," Montgomery vows, "I was going to tag team with Mendoza. I don't want that jackass claiming a piece of Castle if he comes back."

"Is he coming back?" Ryan follows up again, with another glance at Beckett.

"We haven't talked about it," Montgomery replies somewhat testily. "He's been ducking my calls for the last few days. Almost like he's worried I'm going to tear a few strips off him for his participation in that Southern California investigation," he says with a pointed look at Beckett. "Actually, since we're on the topic – Ryan and Esposito, get to work. I have some things to _discuss_ with Detective Beckett."

Beckett tries to look contrite while her team members file out, Esposito pushing his chair in front of him. After all, she's already endured her shockingly light dressing-down from Montgomery about running off to LA in pursuit of Royce' killer. Montgomery'd been surprisingly willing to accept her defense of doing the right thing regardless of the consequences. It makes her wonder if his attitude is related to his recent behavior, including his efforts on the DA investigation.

"Beckett, we need to talk," Montgomery says after Ryan closes the office door on the way out.

Nodding, Beckett jumps right in. "I agree. I need to ask you something about Castle coming back to the precinct."

Knitting his brows in light of being taken off topic, Montgomery looks troubled but waves her to continue so that they can get on to his topic.

"What would happen to Castle's place at the precinct," Beckett asks boldly, though her clenched fists belie her nerves, "if he and I were personally involved?"

Dropping his scowl in favor of a look of pensive curiosity, Montgomery leans back in his chair. He's about to answer when he closes his mouth and takes some additional time to consider his response. After a few nerve-wracking moments, he finally speaks. "Why ask now?"

"Because," Beckett answers quietly, "if I have to choose, I'm going to drop my efforts to get him back to the precinct."

That simple answer tells Montgomery more than he needs to know. Just by saying "if," she's revealed that there's nothing going on right now and she's not certain anything will happen. But she's established her preferences in a way that utterly shocks Montgomery, who takes a few moments to consider a reply.

"I'll say only this," he offers. "What you do on your time is your business, what you do on my time is mine. It happens on your time, we don't need to talk about it. It happens on my time…," he trails off while giving her a stern look, "… then I'll remind the two of you to back off while I remind everyone else that he's a consultant," he says while finally breaking into a small smile. "As long as _I'm_ in charge of the precinct," he summarizes in an odd tone, "you'll get no trouble from me on that front. _Assuming_ ," he clarifies quickly, "you keep it low-key and the quality of your work doesn't suffer."

"Yes, sir," Beckett replies with a smile of her own, which fades only slightly when she remembers that all she's done is clear the way for a relationship Castle hasn't encouraged since his departure.

"Maybe it's good that you mentioned that now," Montgomery says, recalling Beckett's conversation with both his odd tone and odd words. "Did he give you a vacation, too?" When Beckett nods, Montgomery explains why he asked. "It's one of the reasons I've been trying to reach Castle. I changed my vacation a little bit – my family's taking advantage of that trip right now. Things are coming to a head with the DA's investigation," he says cryptically, "and it's time to be cautious. How would your dad feel about heading out of town?"

"Sir?" Beckett asks in mild shock. "What are you talking about? Why would my dad be in danger?"

"He probably won't be," Montgomery replies, "but it's not worth the risk. I made sure the DA knows it was me who was poking around, but after what happened with your mother, I think we should take some extra precautions."

Beckett can hardly believe what she's hearing. Not only has Montgomery raised the specter of her mother's murder, he's worried that Jim might be attacked as a result of Beckett's research. The research that she conducted based on his prompting!

"What have I done?" she asks in quiet fury. "What have _you_ done?" she demands of her boss. "You pushed me to investigate knowing that it might put my father at risk?!"

" _Everything we do_ ," Montgomery answers with equal passion, "puts the people we love at risk. That's the job. I'm doing everything I can to protect us – me, you, your team, Castle – but I need your help. Make plans for your dad, make sure he keeps his head down and be ready to move if I call you."

"For how long?!" Beckett demands. "What's going on? When will we be safe?"

"Soon," is Montgomery's maddening answer. "I've got some errands to run, steps of my own to take. If nothing happens before then, we'll talk about what's going on in a week. Can you trust me that long?"

"A week," Beckett answers grudgingly a long pause, her mind racing as she thinks about taking steps for her father. Florida will be a hard sell, especially since she has no intention of missing out on whatever Montgomery is planning and her father's unlikely to fly off alone. But the cabin – that's the perfect place to hide out, and it shouldn't take much to convince him to head up there…

* * *

"That's a little much, don't you think?" Beckett asks as Alexis completes her order at the coffee shop and hands her credit card to the cashier. "Despite anything your father might've said, I don't actually need four coffees or as many pastries to get moving in the morning." Still shocked that Alexis reached out to her, Beckett was doubly glad to accept this odd breakfast invitation, both to bond with Alexis and to provide a little personal security in light of Montgomery's warning.

"They're not all for us," Alexis says with a secret smile, enjoying having Beckett at a disadvantage. Much to Beckett's consternation, it looks like Alexis enjoys this fleeting sense of control as much as her father has done.

Stepping down the counter to collect their bags of pastries and await the preparation of their drinks, the ladies chat idly, Beckett working for clues and Alexis shutting her down with a smile. With only minimal grumbling, they're heading out the door, where Alexis again surprises Beckett by moving toward the waiting Town Car.

"We're meeting Lanie," Alexis offers as she accepts the driver's help to get their drink trays into the car. "It'll take a little while to get there, so you might want to grab a bear claw for the ride."

"I guess your dad hasn't told you how I feel about surprises," Beckett grouses. Then, noticing Alexis' grin, she revises her statement. "Or perhaps he has." Alexis' widening smile is all the confirmation she needs.

Deciding to maintain her humor, Beckett leans back into the seat and tries to relax. Life's not all bad. Alexis' surprise is unlikely to be unwelcome (though it could be uncomfortable), she's got caffeine and sugar, and they're on their way to see another friend. With a deep breath, Beckett forces herself to relax. Noticing Alexis' chuckle doesn't even impede her efforts. Much.

Twenty minutes later, the Town Car crosses a bridge out of Manhattan, prompting Beckett to perk up. "Exactly how far are we going?" she asks of a smirking Alexis.

"We're almost there," Alexis answers as the car turns onto a side street where Beckett sees a familiar vehicle.

Shaking her head, Beckett can't help but smile. "You're definitely your father's daughter. Do I want to know why this adventure requires a coroner's van?" In reply, Alexis merely mimes zipping her lips, emphasizing that no clues will be forthcoming.

Beckett rolls her eyes as the car comes to a halt next to the white van. Beckett's hardly out the door before Lanie's calling from the driver's window of the van. "Patient needs a caffeine infusion, stat!"

Alexis hands the pastry bags then a tray of drinks to Lanie while Beckett walks around the Town Car to join them. But Lanie's already rolling up her window and firing up the van, so Alexis leads Beckett over to the passenger door.

"Aren't you coming with?" Beckett asks in confusion when she boards the van and Alexis steps away.

"Ewww," Alexis answers. "Definitely not. Have fun!" she says with a teasing wave, before returning to the Town Car.

"Alexis…," Beckett starts to say, wondering how she could justify an inquiry into the girl's safety.

"Don't worry, Kate," Alexis replies with a smile. "Dad talked to me about personal security. Paul's armed, and he's taking me right home, where I'll be escorted into the loft," she says with a nod to her driver.

"Still, be careful, please," Beckett warns unnecessarily, getting an eye roll from Castle's daughter as she gets back into the Town Car. Still nervous, Beckett climbs into the van and consoles herself with the knowledge that she can at least figure out what this morning's lark is all about.

"Lanie?" Beckett asks, starting to get perturbed when her friend offers no explanation.

"Don't _even_ , girl," Lanie says with a raised palm. "Just sit back and enjoy the ride." The three cruisers that pull into line behind them only a block later hardly help assuage Beckett's curiosity.

* * *

"Hey Rodgers!" Ben Costa yells out. "Or should I say _Castle_?"

With a sigh that's barely noticed by the group in front of him, Castle curses his rotten luck. After managing to deflect Gina's efforts to get him to add more book signings, he's somehow gotten himself stuck at an FDNY fundraiser where he's doing exactly that. And it's not like it's going to make Gina happy – she'll be angry that Sal succeeded where she failed, and she'll be quick to point out that this is highly unlikely to boost the sales of his books, especially since he didn't tell Paula about today's outing until half an hour before he got here (and caught hell for that, too). The only thing that _has_ gone right is that he's avoided the work. As the resident author, he gets to sit in an uncomfortable folding chair at a rickety card table to sign books and chat while his colleagues have to spend their downtime mimicking their jobs.

"Yeah, Ben?" Castle answers, turning to see his captain. Alarm bells ring loudly in Castle's mind when he sees Costa's wide smile. In more than two months working with him, Castle can't remember _ever_ seeing Costa smile.

"Time to get to work," Costa says with a laugh, which is an odd enough occurrence that it catches the attention of several of the nearby firefighters, "now that your people have arrived. And, sorry, but you know how the rest of the guys feel about cops, so they're _all yours_ ," he says while lifting an arm to point to the approaching NYPD motorcade, led by a coroner's van.

"Shut the front door," Castle grumbles to himself in disbelief as he hears the laughs of his coworkers around him.

With a honk from the van, the vehicles pull into the school parking lot where they've set up the fundraising carwash, earning disgruntled looks from people in the long line of cars who were already awaiting their turn. Lanie's waving vigorously from the van, smile so wide that Castle can't help but chuckle. He's just raising his hand in reply when a sponge thrown by one of his firehouse colleagues hits him in the side of the head, raising another round of laughs. With a sigh, Castle picks up the sponge, grabs a bucket, and charges, ever so slowly, into the breach.

" _Please_ tell me I don't need to wash the inside," Castle quips as he approaches Lanie's window of the ME's van.

"Hi, Castle," Lanie answers in reply, still smiling wide. "The outside alone is enough. Of the van, I guess," she clarifies, sounding sad.

Castle can't help but chuckle at her teasing. "I don't know, Lanie, vans cost extra. Sure you can afford it?"

Making her readiness for this situation more than apparent, Lanie happily pulls a roll of money out of her pocketbook. "All I've got are singles," she says while craning her neck out the window and looking down. "And it doesn't look like your shorts have pockets. Wherever shall I tuck my dollar bills?"

"I'm sure we'll think of something," he answers with a leer, followed quickly by a chuckle before he looks across the van to see Lanie's blushing co-pilot. "Hi, Beckett," he offers quietly.

"Hi, Rick," she answers, ignoring Lanie's puking gesture at their painfully careful interaction. "If you come around to my side, I've got a coffee for you," she coaxes. In reply, Castle hustles over with enough eagerness to raise a large smile. Unfortunately, his antics cause him to miss what Lanie's up to now that she's unattended.

"Still hot?" Beckett asks as Castle takes a long sip, hoping that reversing their old coffee ritual might help them move forward.

"Of course I am, Beckett, not _that_ much has changed," he answers with a wicked look, prompting a joyous eye roll, a somewhat bizarre concept that she readily embraces. Whatever follow-up Castle was planning to offer, though, disappears under a spray of cold water and a squawk.

"Tommy, what the hell?" Castle asks as he turns, not bothering to hide his tone of betrayal. With the arm not holding a hose still in a sling to remind him of their close call, Castle figured that Tommy would be the last person he'd have to worry about.

"Sorry, Rick," Tommy offers with a shrug and resulting flinch, "but I owed Lanie for sneaking Shannon in to see me at the hospital," he answers with a blush. "She thought you'd look better…," he trails off, nodding at Castle's white FDNY t-shirt, which is now soaked, translucent, and clinging. Letting his head fall as he shakes it (both in dismay and to shed some of the fatter drops of water), Castle takes a deep breath before reaching for the bucket.

Just after he picks it up, though, a loud burst of static assaults his ears. "Please move along," booms Karpowski's voice authoritatively from her cruiser's megaphone. "There's _plenty_ to see here!" As cars around the lot honk in agreement, Castle sighs again and prepares to get soapy.

* * *

"Hi, Daddy," Alexis calls out from her spot on the far side of the kitchen island as Castle enters the loft, trying in vain to hide her smile.

"You, my dearest daughter," Castle intones seriously, "are in _so_ – _much_ – _trouble_."

"What?" Alexis answers in feigned ignorance. "What could I possibly have done? I've been busy studying all day. I certainly didn't have time to get into any mischief. Or talk to any FDNY captains. Or make any calls. Or post any online announcements. Or donate my allowance to a good cause. Or…"

" _So. Much. Trouble_ ," Castle repeats as he stalks towards her, still wet and fully intending to share his misery by giving his daughter a monstrous hug.

"Oh, I almost forgot," Alexis says, pretending to ignore her father. "Lanie called and left a message for you, though it doesn't make any sense."

"Yes?" Castle asks, still moving closer and raising his arms to cut off Alexis' escape routes.

"She said," Alexis says while trying not to laugh, " _You missed a spot_!" she squeals as she makes a break for the stairs, her father in close pursuit behind her.

* * *

A/N: A couple notes this time, and we'll start with the bad news. I didn't get much writing (or reading) done last week, so my cushion of written chapters is now gone. If things go well, I'll post one more time this week. After that, though, I'm headed to Alaska for a vacation during which I don't expect to have a computer or access to the internet. So, this story definitely won't conclude until probably mid- to late-July.

Even if I'm successful at posting again this week, it might be a partial update, since chapter twelve is getting a little out of control. I've only finished one scene and it's nearly as long as chapter eight, so it's likely going to need to be split. We'll see.

I enjoyed the reaction to chapter ten – thanks for the comments and PMs. Certainly some vigorous debate about what's going on between the characters, which I'm sure won't be helped by further developments in this chapter. Our protagonists will be back in the same place in the next chapter.

Finally, while I've replied to all the reviews I could, I can't reply to those who've logged in as guests. Thanks for the thoughts there; I'll save my reply to some of the issues raised there for the end of the story. (Except for the cello comment – it made the trip well, though we'll not be taking it with to Alaska.) If you're the guest who posted a review that listed right after 3rdfah's on June 22 (the review that started with "This is really interesting…"), I'd appreciate it if you'd drop me a PM.


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional.

A/N: I finally had to break a chapter in half. There's a problem, though: a full chapter (a week in the story) usually includes several plot threads and a mix of lighter and heavier scenes. Not this one! So, if getting the full mix is important to you, hold off on reading this chapter until I post the second half sometime after returning from vacation. More notes below.

* * *

 **Week Twelve (part one)**

Sure she's being ridiculous, Beckett cranes her neck as she tries in vain to find some house number to get her bearings. Seriously, what is it about being filthy rich that encourages people to hide their house numbers? Even if reclusive, they still need to accept deliveries, right?

It was actually a delivery that started today's panic. After some fun at the carwash fundraiser that included Tommy giving her the hose so she could happily demonstrate that her sharp-shooting prowess wasn't limited to firearms, Beckett thought that she and Castle might be getting past some of their awkwardness. With the arson suspect finally in custody, Castle's only got one professional responsibility now (aside from writing and practicing piano for his sessions with Mrs. Tremaine), and Beckett decided it was past time to be bold in her plan to prove her interest to Castle. Following up on the precedent set by the weekend, she actually drove out to his firehouse this morning intending to deliver coffee again. It's a small gesture, but it says a lot. Especially with the added element of an NYPD officer braving the inevitable abuse she'd receive from visiting a firehouse.

Except she'd received no abuse. The first person she encountered was a firefighter named Carla, who'd been nothing but kind and gracious to her after Beckett introduced herself as a friend of Rick's. But instead of taking her to him, Carla explained that Rick was hosting many of the guys he works with at a beach wedding for the two days they're off rotation.

So, for the second time in the last few weeks, Beckett had hastily taken vacation time and fled the precinct. Montgomery was initially unwilling to grant her unanticipated leave request due to their monstrous workload, but he finally relented and grudgingly gave her the day when she suggested she was worried about Castle's security. Now that she's in the Hamptons and looking for the address that she and Ryan abused their positions and databases to obtain, she's starting to wonder about the wisdom of her "plan." She'd shied from calling Alexis, fearful that asking her would put Castle's daughter in a terrible position. But if there was anything to worry about, Alexis would've called her, right?

An executive van pulling out of the driveway up ahead captures her attention. That must be Castle's place – that looks exactly like the kind of vehicle his car service would use to transport a large number of people. The security gate looks to be fully retracted and disabled, leaving the driveway clear, so Beckett follows her instincts. Pulling into the drive, the number of cars and vans certainly confirms that something's going on here. Driving past them, she shakes her head in awe at the beauty of the house. Unsurprised to finally see the house number, as if his car in the garage weren't enough of a confirmation, Beckett finds a place to park her cruiser.

She's out of the car even as the engine is still spooling down, knowing that if she stops to reconsider her approach she's unlikely to follow through. So, with only slightly stuttering steps, she approaches the front door and rings the bell before she comes to a halt.

Wondering if the commotion inside obscured the ringing doorbell, Beckett's just reaching out to ring again when the door opens and she finds herself standing before a stunningly beautiful blonde woman in a flowy teal sundress and strappy white sandals.

"Ah," Fred says in recognition, crossing her arms and leaning on the doorframe. "Detective Kate Beckett. Can I help you?"

"I…," Beckett trails off, momentarily thrown. Reminding herself that she's dealt with more terrifying people and circumstances (though none spring readily to mind), she swallows hard and refocuses. "Is Rick here?"

"He is," Fred replies with a smile. "Unsurprising, really, since this is his house. He's pretty busy right now, though, getting ready for the wedding."

"The wedding?" Beckett parrots back, as if this wasn't the reason she drove all the way out here. Hating that she needs to ask the question, she clenches her jaw, then her fists, then makes an effort to relax. "Who's getting married?"

"Who…," Fred trails off, looking at Beckett with new eyes. "Come on," she says as she stands back and motions Beckett to enter the beach house. "We need to talk."

Despite her efforts to convince herself that she was being ridiculous, this greeting phrase sends Beckett's insecurities soaring. This visit was probably a bad idea and entering Castle's house seems like doubling-down. She's still locked in place when Fred sighs.

"You're not thinking about running, are you?" Fred asks, eyebrow cocked as she surveys Beckett. "Tell me you wouldn't really bolt without knowing what's going on."

Annoyed by the presumption of the woman she recognizes as Winnie Keates from her DMV photo and the Ledger's photos from the Aegis party, Beckett huffs and tries to regain some small element of control. "Why don't we talk out here?"

"Because I don't feel like drowning in the testosterone of preening firefighters," Fred answers with a look of someone who's already been subjected to what she's described. Gesturing again, Fred finally succeeds in coaxing Beckett inside. "We can talk upstairs," she says as she steps past Beckett, leading the way.

There's frenetic activity throughout the house, people bustling about in multiple directions. Several are uniformed servers, bedecked in white shirts and smiles, black pants and ties, relaxing before their work begins. Others appear to be moving sound equipment through the house. There's a constant tumult of voices, and Beckett recognizes Castle's distant laugh as they climb the stairs and Fred leads her to a bedroom door, which opens as they approach.

"Kate?" Alexis asks in delighted surprise as she exits the room. "What are you doing here? Did Dad…"

"We were just going to talk about that," Fred cuts her off, nodding toward the room. "Will you run interference for a bit? Just fifteen minutes or so?"

"Sure," Alexis answers, giving Fred a curious look. Looking toward the stairs, Alexis turns back and steps over to Beckett to offer a welcoming hug. "I'm glad you're here," she assures Beckett. Then she exchanges a quick hug and whispers with Fred before offering a wide smile to both ladies and heading for the stairs.

"In the immortal words of your father," Fred calls out to Alexis as she starts to descend, "watch your bottom!"

" _No_ _kidding_ ," Alexis answers with a beleaguered laugh and an eye roll before pulling out her cell phone and disappearing out of sight.

Fred offers no clarification on the comment, instead entering the room from which Alexis had exited. Following, Beckett finds herself in Alexis' beach house bedroom, which it looks like Fred is sharing. But Fred steps through the room, opening the sliding glass door to a private balcony decorated with two chairs and a large sun umbrella. Turning the chairs to face each other rather than the water, Fred flops into one and gestures to the other.

"So," Fred says even before Beckett's fully lowered herself into the chair, "you drove all the way out here without knowing who's getting married?"

"Look, Ms. Keates…," Beckett begins, before getting cut off.

"You can call me Winnie," Fred offers with a smile. "At least for now."

"Winnie," Beckett starts again. "I don't know you. I should just talk to Castle."

"You're not ready to talk to him," Fred offers, her smile growing pointed, "and I don't think he's ready to talk to you. So, let's try this again: you drove all the way here without knowing who's getting married. Why?"

"I suspect you know why," Beckett huffs, stuck somewhere between deep offense and mortal embarrassment.

In reply, Fred simply stares at Beckett. She probably knows exactly how uncomfortable Beckett feels right now and is holding out for discomfort to dislodge more information. Nice interrogation technique, Beckett thinks, but this is my game, not yours.

"You didn't really think Rick was getting married, did you?" Fred asks after a few moments.

Any satisfaction Beckett feels from getting Fred to speak first evaporates immediately as she hears her fear spoken aloud. And this time it looks like Fred's willing to sit until the sun sets to hear Beckett speak.

"I didn't think so," Beckett confesses, "but I wouldn't have been able to live with myself if I didn't check, if he got married and I didn't try to talk to him before then. He's not, right? Getting married?"

"Of course he's not," Fred says, shaking her head and rolling her eyes. "You just saw him days ago! You really think he could be marrying someone today?!"

"I should go," Beckett says, ignoring the question and any further personal discussion. Castle's not doing anything rash, so it's time to retreat with whatever pathetic shreds of dignity she can manage, then figure out how to reconnect with him in a more controlled situation.

"Tell me this," Fred replies, making no move to rise while making it clear she expects Beckett to remain in place, too. "If Rick had reacted differently to your approach in LA, you'd be here anyway, right? Or would you still be so anxious to leave?"

"You know about that?" Beckett whispers, frozen in place. "He told you…"

"Everything," Fred interrupts with a nod. "He told me everything."

Beckett's flight response finally kicks in and she's out of her chair and on the move until Fred's hand on her arm stops her. After talking about her LA conversation with Castle, Beckett's efforts to leave now are an odd parallel to his efforts to leave then.

"Why are you always so desperate to run?" Fred asks quietly, her hand still on Beckett's arm. "Why do you always assume the worst?" When Beckett offers no answer, Fred tries again. "He heard you out that night in LA. Will you do the same here?"

Beckett drops her head, then ever-so-slowly makes her way back to the chair in silence. Her head is still bowed when she's sitting again.

"Do you really think so little of Rick, of yourself, that you'd think he could be marrying someone else today?" Fred asks, returning to the topic that she just won't let go.

Anxious to move on, Beckett relents. "I didn't think so, but he's been noble before. If…," she hates herself for even saying it, "… Alexis has a sibling on the way, he'd do the right thing."

"He probably would," Fred says in an easy tone, almost musing. "But he's been _exceptionally_ careful to avoid any romantic entanglements," she confides.

This statement, freely offered and seemingly providing relief on an issue that's bothered Beckett deeply, causes her to raise her head to look carefully at Fred. "Do you mean he…," Beckett trails off, feeling like it's too petty to finish her question.

"Has he been with anyone else since his friend asked him to leave the police department?" Fred guesses. "No, he hasn't. Despite some determined suitors," she says with a laugh, blushing over her role in accidentally putting Castle in a tight spot.

"How do you know all this?" Beckett asks, waving her arm in discomfort.

"I'll tell you my secret," Fred offers conspiratorially, leaning in. Where she waits for Beckett to do the same thing.

Huffing, Beckett finally leans forward, assenting to the conversation and the ridiculous posture of confidence.

"My secret," Fred whispers, pausing to look over each shoulder to accentuate the air of mystery, "is that I ask him what I want to know. Then he tells me. Then we talk about it. Quite devious of me, no?" she asks with a smile.

"Masterful," Beckett grunts in reply, though Fred's point is made. How many _real_ conversations has she had with Castle? Maybe two in recent history – the first when she visited the loft after learning of his departure from the precinct, and the second in LA. Neither went particularly well.

"They get easier, you know," Fred confides, giving Beckett the queer impression that Fred knows what she was thinking about. "You two lived for too long without actually talking to each other, so you've got some catching up to do. Sounds like you've already started."

Beckett's tempted to fire off a caustic reply, but then reconsiders. Castle's friend hasn't been overly antagonistic or vindictive; in fact, she might even be trying to help, though Beckett's not sure why that might be. So, while she tries to figure out the motives behind this conversation, she comes up with an innocuous question. "The voice of experience?"

"You wanna know how I met Rick?" Fred asks with a sly grin that grows wide at Beckett's wary look. "Too bad, I'm gonna tell you anyway. I was out for an evening of cutting loose. Rick was there with some guys from his firehouse who were hitting on anything that moved. But not Rick. He noticed me," Fred says quickly, when it looks like Beckett is tuning out, "but he didn't approach. Didn't send me a drink. Didn't do _anything_. I had to know why this gorgeous man with the soulful eyes wasn't checking me out," she explains with a smile and a shrug. "So, I walked over and asked him."

"But you're…," Beckett starts to say in an uncharacteristic stumble that reveals exactly how much this conversation has put her on edge.

"Gay?" Fred supplies with a grin and an eye roll. "It's not like we wear signs or have a dress code," she says with a laugh and a disappointed look. "But he knew. From a handful of words and whatever he'd seen when he looked at me, he knew far more about me than I would've guessed. And he told me," she returns to her point, "because I asked."

"We don't talk much," Beckett finally confesses, giving in to the strange charm of Castle's new friend. "Maybe we wouldn't be in such a mess right now if we did."

"It's a mess alright," Fred says with a laugh. "But I don't think it's a lost cause. Unless you want it to be, in which case I'd have to ask why you drove all the way out here."

"No," Beckett answers quietly and quickly, "I don't want a lost cause. I want… well, if you talked with Castle, you know what I want."

"You don't seem very comfortable with the notion of Rick talking to me," Fred replies, noticing Beckett flinch and pressing the point. "You can't really be surprised, though, right? You must have a friend you talk to about this stuff."

"Yeah," Beckett allows with a shrug. "But that's… it's just girl talk."

"Oh," Fred says, pretending to understand. "So, Rick's supposed to be talking to a guy about this? Maybe in a locker room where they judge each other by the size of their… _exaggerations_?" she asks with a perched brow.

"No," Beckett allows, feeling a bit ridiculous. "But there's something wrong with him talking to a beautiful woman about his love life."

"That was our deal, you know," Fred offers conversationally. "I've been his shield for the past few months. People see us together and assume he's not available."

" _Most_ people," Beckett grumbles under her breath.

"Yes, most people," Fred answers with a sly smile. "Some are undeterred. Gina took her shot, and your friend Maddie had me worried. But Rick managed to deal with them both adroitly."

Something in Fred's tone or look catches Beckett's attention, finally sparks some of her usual investigative instincts. She nearly sighs in relief as she feels more like herself. "You're not telling me something," she asserts while cocking an eyebrow at Fred.

"There's plenty I'm not telling you," she replies with a wicked smile and a raised brow of her own. "This isn't an interrogation room," she says with an expansive wave that takes in the picturesque setting, "and I'm not a suspect."

"No," Beckett answers with a nod and a smile of her own. "You're not a suspect. You're a gatekeeper, aren't you?"

"No, I'm a big sister," Fred answers with a proprietary smile, "so gatekeeping's just one of my roles. I was supposed to be unpacking from my LA trip, but Rick invited me out to help my little brother host a wedding. Plus," she adds conspiratorially, "I've been giving him trouble about not seeing his beach house."

"You were in LA?" Beckett asks in surprise.

Fred nods, giving Beckett a knowing look. "I'm looking to move back. So, I was there when you were in town. That's where Rick told me about what happened – he visited my parents' place after he dropped you at LAX."

"I thought he…," Beckett replies, trailing off as she edits her thoughts.

Shaking her head in disappointment or consternation, Fred emits a loud sigh. "He _did_ go to San Bernardino the next morning, just as he said. As far as I know, Rick's never lied to you. I'm not sure he could," she says while leveling a piercing look at Beckett. "But that doesn't mean he hasn't made mistakes in your conversations."

"Why are you doing this?" Beckett asks, genuinely interested in both her answer and in shifting the focus of the conversation. "Why are you talking to me about him?"

"Like I said," Fred answers seriously, though she's still smiling, "I'm his sister. I'm looking out for him. He's a good man and I'd like him to be happy. But he's made some mistakes and I'm trying to make sure he doesn't make another."

"And you think I'd be a mistake?" Beckett asks, more than a little offended at the presumption of this stranger.

"There's the temper I've heard about," Fred replies with a grin, undaunted. "I don't know you. I don't know if you'd be a mistake. I'd like to think not," she says kindly, still smiling in reply to Beckett's fierce look. "That's why I wanted to meet you, to take the time to talk to you."

"I thought this was about me," Beckett replies, cringing internally at how that sounds before trying to clarify. "About me not being ready to talk to him."

Nodding, Fred agrees. "You weren't ready to talk to him."

"Past tense," Beckett notes of Fred's comments. "Does that mean I'm ready now?"

"Getting there," Fred answers with a laugh. "I needed to get a sense for you, too. I've heard a lot about you, obviously, but I wanted some experience of my own. Just tell me this: are you really interested in him?"

"You're grilling me about my intentions?" Beckett asks, torn between incredulity and offense, leavened with a bit of unanticipated humor, too.

"Of course I am!" Fred replies. "That's why I pushed to see if you were going to run! That's why I wanted to make sure you didn't leave with any misimpressions about what's happening here today." When that last comment causes Beckett to look away, Fred pursues it. "Look, I know you promised Rick you were going to commit to this. And I know how daunting it must've been to drive out here without an invitation or an idea of what you'd find. So, color me cautiously impressed."

Every time Beckett thinks she has Fred's measure, the woman says something else that knocks things out of focus again. But, for all her confusion, Beckett can't help but reply to Fred's recognition of her discomfort. "It was a terrible drive," she admits in a low tone. "And…," she trails off, wondering if she should say anything more. When Fred looks gives her a nod and an expectant look, Beckett decides to just let go. "And after everything that's happened between us, I wasn't ready to run into another beautiful blonde woman at his beach house."

"I'm sorry," Fred says quietly, "and thank you. I'll confess that I wanted to rattle your cage a bit, see how you reacted. But I can see how today's been pretty tough already. You were so on edge, though, that I didn't want you to see Rick like that. You looked ready to bolt, and if you did that after talking with him… well, I'm not sure there'd be a recovery from that."

"Thank you," Beckett answers quietly. "I'm not great at this," she says with a vague wave, "and he's got a knack for knocking me off balance. You're probably right – it probably wouldn't have gone well if I was on edge before I even saw him.

"Right," Fred says briskly. "If you're really in this," Fred says, giving her another direct, hopeful look, "then you need confidence. So, first thing's first – you know Tommy, right? The firefighter Rick pulled out of the building when he was acting the idiot hero and almost died?" Fred asks, showing some of her terror at hearing about what happened while she was on the other side of the country.

"I've met him," Beckett answers with a secret smile, remembering the boyish-looking man who'd let her steal his hose at the carwash.

"He was supposed to get married a few days after their close call," Fred says, and the pieces fall into place. "Shannon's a school teacher, so between them they don't have a lot of money and they lost a fair bit on the deposits. Luckily, they weren't planning to go on their honeymoon until after the school year ended, so that's okay."

"Castle offered his beach house for the wedding, didn't he?" Beckett replies, nodding along. "That's so like him."

"It serves a few purposes," Fred answers. "Mostly, he's watching out for Tommy and Shannon. But the reaction to his identity at the firehouse caused some problems, so this is also a bit of a peace offering. He's still trying to wrap his head around how much it's backfired," Fred says with a devious smile.

"What a minute – they didn't know who he was?" Beckett asks in surprise.

"Not until _somebody_ shouted his name at one of their scenes," she answers with a pointed smirk.

"Oh, crap," Beckett mutters succinctly.

" _Oops_ ," Fred laughs. "It was always going to go public eventually. He just wanted to start as a regular guy to get a feel for the firehouse. Sal wouldn't have let it remain a secret. And now that it's out there, Rick's really in trouble."

"The carwash?" Beckett guesses.

"That's only the beginning. Sal's got a whole array of promotional efforts he's trying to squeeze out of Rick before he leaves, just in case he can't convince him to extend his stay," Fred chuckles.

"Does this have to do with your comment about backfiring?" Beckett asks. She'd prefer to sound Fred out on Castle's thoughts about extending his stay with the FDNY, but she's not quite that willing to confide in Castle's friend yet. Besides, that's probably a conversation she should have with him.

"Yep," Fred laughs again. "You can ask Mr. April all about it."

"Mister… _No way_ ," Beckett says in surprise. "He's going to be in the _calendar_?"

"He tried to weasel out of it so many ways," Fred says with a chuckle. "He built this whole defense about how it wouldn't be fair to his coworkers, to the people who do this as a career rather than a writing lark. That's when Costa 'saved' him – said he'd put it up for a vote. Guess who won without entering the race?"

"I'm a little surprised," Beckett replies through her own chuckles. "Seems like the kind of thing he'd normally be excited about."

"I've heard all about how brilliant you are," Fred says, still wearing her smile but matching it with an assessing stare, "so I'm sure you can figure out where he's coming from. Or, here's a thought: maybe you could just ask him?"

"Back to the direct communication thing, huh?" Beckett asks with a sigh.

"It's been fun getting to know you a bit," Fred answers seriously in reply, "and I'm glad we had this chance to talk. But I need to make sure you understand something. I'm Rick's friend, not yours," Fred says succinctly. "When he jumped into your world, he surrounded himself with people who answer to you first. Not me – I'm here for Rick. If you two are going to work out, you both need to figure out a way to be better. So, get used to me pushing for the direct communication and anything else I think you two need to be good together. Because as much as I've enjoyed this conversation, I won't let you hurt him. He's the one who made me his big sister, and I'm going to take that role seriously."

Beckett sits in place, frozen by Fred's words. She's surprised to find herself back in a place of being evaluated, tested. After her conversation with Martha and her outings with Alexis, she'd kind of assumed that the way forward was clear with Castle's family. But she hadn't planned on impressing a sibling, even a recently-adopted one. The whole conversation would be ridiculous, and infuriating, if it wasn't so painfully obvious that Fred was being completely genuine.

"I understand," Beckett's almost surprised to hear herself say. "Thank you. For talking to me, but also for looking out for him."

Fred's about to reply when a knock on the balcony door draws their attention. Once it's clear she won't be interrupting, Alexis slides the door open wide and gestures for both women to return to the bedroom. "Muriel's here."

"Muriel?" Beckett asks, shifting her look from Alexis to Fred and back.

"She owns a dress shop in town," Alexis answers while looking at Beckett's clothes, which, while fashionable for the precinct, don't quite work for a beach wedding. "So, she brought out some options for you."

"Alexis…," Beckett blushes, caught short by the young woman's attentiveness and generosity. Then, even while flustered, she remembers the whispered words Alexis shared with Fred shortly after Beckett arrived. Turning to Castle's friend, she raises a brow. "But it wasn't just Alexis, was it?"

"You'll need a dress for the ceremony. You _are_ staying, aren't you?" Fred asks pointedly, and Beckett can't help but notice Alexis' hopeful look in her peripheral vision.

"I hope so," Beckett answers slowly. "But that's up to Castle. Direct communication, right?" she asks with a nervous shrug, encouraged by Alexis' beaming smile and the cautiously optimistic look from Castle's 'sister.'

* * *

"You can't just say 'I've got a surprise for you' at a _wedding_ ," Castle complains as he follows his daughter into the house. "There're just too many things that can go wrong – tsunamis, food poisoning, unknown prior marriages, abductions, drunken pastors – way too many options," Castle laments as he waves his hands.

"What are you complaining about?" Alexis asks with a laugh. "So Shannon's family's flight was delayed – they'll be here within a half-hour. Everything's going fine!"

Shaking his head, Castle immediately employs an ancient gesture for warding off evil. "You just _had_ to say it, didn't you? Well, anything that happens now is your fault."

"I would've thought," Alexis replies while nudging him at the turn for the stairs, "that based on your experience, you'd prefer your surprises before the wedding rather than after."

"You… what… I can't believe you just went there!" Castle mumbles incredulously to his smirking daughter. Then, with a quirk of his head, he considers her jibe. "But you're probably right," he chuckles as he climbs the stairs. "Fine, my expectations are suitably adjusted. What's this big sur…," he trails off as they mount the top of the stairs and see the two women standing outside the door to Alexis' bedroom. " _Beckett_?"

"We'll keep things running downstairs while you two talk," Fred says as she steps over. Gracing Castle with a quick hug, she whispers quietly in his ear. "If you need _anything_ , just let me know. We've chatted a bit and I haven't seen a reason to throw her out. But I can take her."

Chuckling at the image of a Fred-Beckett throw-down that he knows wouldn't go Fred's way, Castle gives his friend a squeeze before releasing her. "Thanks, sis," he says with a smile. "Don't let my daughter burn the place down."

"There might be a few guys here who could help with that," Alexis says with an eye roll as she breezes by her father on her way to the stairs, pausing only long enough for a quick kiss on the cheek.

Then, suddenly, Castle finds himself alone with Beckett. Not sure how to proceed but certain that whatever happens should be private, he gestures to the hallway and leads Beckett to the double doors at the end. Holding the doors for her, he again motions her through his bedroom, which also enjoys a private balcony. On her way to the door, she notices the Fleming book on Castle's nightstand. Such a small thing to provide such hope. Maybe he sees it the same way?

Castle's balcony overlooks the pool as well as the shoreline. As they lower themselves into the lounge chairs, Beckett notes that the preparations look complete for a wedding at water's edge. It should be a beautiful service, a grand way for a young couple to launch their life together.

"You've got a hell of a lot of nerve showing up here," Castle says quietly, instantly collecting her attention. When she looks at him warily, he scrunches up his face and blows out a frustrated breath. "Sorry," he says with a blush, "I'm already getting flustered, just like our last talk. You should be able to rely on an author to choose his words with greater care," he says, scolding himself. "What I should've said is that it took a lot of courage for you to show up here today," he explains with a wary look of his own.

"Maybe," Beckett replies in surprise, her discomfort at Castle's inelegant stumbling at the start of their conversation putting her off-balance again.

"You've always been the brave one," he praises with another embarrassed look, offering compliments as he tries to find his own footing.

Thankful that he's provided her with a starting point, Beckett jumps in quickly to correct him. "No, Rick, I haven't. Not about things between us. You've been the brave one. We wouldn't be having so much trouble if I hadn't been such a coward."

"Stop," Castle commands quietly, a gentle hand on her knee reinforcing his request. "As confused as I've been, I don't want to hear anyone talking you down, and that includes you," he says with a small smile.

"But it's true," Beckett objects, even though his words already having her feeling lighter, happier.

"We need to talk – to _really_ talk," he says, giving her knee a little squeeze. "The whole messy, uncomfortable, embarrassing thing," he says, looking just as nervous as the woman who's nodding back at him. "We don't have time for that now," he says while using his free hand to gesture to the wedding preparations below, "so let's wait, okay?"

"When're you coming back to the city?" she asks, glad for once that he still has commitments at the firehouse since it means she's not facing the prospect of losing him for the summer again.

"Tomorrow," Castle answers, giving her knee another squeeze before reclaiming his hand. "We'll have the reception here, right after the wedding, which'll start as soon as Shannon's family arrives and gets settled. Then back to the 'house tomorrow, since most of us pulled the night shift. So, if you're willing to try again, meet me at Remy's for our poor, often-shuffled lunch date the day after tomorrow?"

"You'll be exhausted," Beckett objects, though she's thrilled that he reinitiated the Remy's date. "How about this – I'll meet you there at 9:30, right after your shift. We can call it a late breakfast or early lunch."

"Brunch?" Castle teases in reply, suggesting the word for Beckett's fumbling.

"Of course not," Beckett reacts with an eye roll. "It's a _diner_ , Castle – there's no brunch when they serve breakfast all day."

"Silly me," he replies, wearing a small smile that Beckett hopes is the result of the same happiness she's feeling at the return of some of their teasing. "Montgomery won't mind you cutting out?"

"I'm not gonna ask," Beckett replies with a sassy look, prompting a grin from Castle. Concentrating on that smile, Beckett takes a fortifying breath, then pursues her more immediate hope. "Do we have to wait that long to spend some time together?" she asks, embarrassed by how shy her voice sounds. But her Detective Beckett persona is proving difficult to recall right now, leaving only Kate. "Can I stay for the wedding?"

"You drove all the way here to see the wedding of a guy who lent you a garden hose so you could soak me down in a school parking lot," Castle laughs. "What kind of host would I be to turn you away after all that effort? Bring your bag in here," he says while using a thumb to point over his shoulder to his bedroom, talking before she can correct his misimpression. "Quarters are tight since we're hosting Shannon and Tommy's families," he explains with a laugh and Beckett blushes at the implication before he keeps talking. "I put a Murphy bed in my office, so I can bunk there."

"Rick, I can't…," Beckett starts to say before Castle cuts her off.

"Sorry, Beckett, no guests allowed in the Murphy bed. It's a liability thing," he says ridiculously, "so just enjoy the hospitality. And the enormous tub."

"I can't stay that long," Beckett replies sadly. "I need to go back to the city tonight – Montgomery was clear about only giving me today, and I'm not in a great place to push him after LA."

Castle nods, and Beckett's gladdened to see that he's doesn't look happy about her early departure. In fact, she might be able to convince herself that he looks a little disappointed. His reaction helps build her courage.

"I promised I'd show you what I want, Rick," she begins quietly. Watching him, she can almost see himself retracting, the defensive walls going up. Time to provide some reassurance, she thinks quickly. Reaching out to lay a gentle hand on his knee just as he had done just minutes ago. "I know we'll talk later – I'm not trying to jump the gun here," she says with a smile and a squeeze. "But I need to make a confession before we head down to the wedding."

"Beckett," he replies in a low tone after a moment's pause, "it's too early for us to play the confession game."

Beckett's joyous guffaw is enough to draw the attention of several guests milling around the pool, but she doesn't care. For the first time in _months_ Castle teased her like he used to – sexy innuendo that held the hint of a future development between them. She feels so blissfully optimistic, all because of a stupid joke, that she just can't help but release the eruption of joy lest it consume her right here on his balcony.

"Then I'll save my sinful confessions for later," she finally says with a saucy look that's ruined by her continuing chuckles. "But for now, an embarrassing one. I learned about the wedding when I tried to bring you coffee this morning," she starts to explain, watching Castle's eyebrows slowly rise. "And when Carla told me you were out here for a wedding, she didn't mention anything about Tommy or Shannon."

Despite his confusion at the beginning of this conversation, Castle's on his game now and he realizes the implication of her simple comment immediately. "So you thought…," he trails off, wary of guessing wrong.

"I didn't think you were getting married," Beckett offers. "But I didn't _know_. And if you were, I could never live with myself if I didn't try to talk to you first."

Castle nods, though he's starting to look pensive. "And what would you've said?"

"God, Castle," Beckett answers, lifting the hand from his knee and running it through her hair. "I tried so hard not to think about it. Like it'd be more real if I thought about it," she says with an embarrassed shrug. "But I couldn't help myself. And you know the really sad part?" she asks rhetorically. "It would've been easier if you were just on a bender or a rebound or… you know, if you were _in love_ ," she says with an embarrassed wave. "But it you were trying to provide stability for a child… how could I've said anything?"

Castle remains quiet, clearly thinking deeply about Beckett's confession and what it must've cost her to explain why she's here. Oddly, he finds himself at a loss for words, though he knows some are desperately necessary.

Instead of speaking, though, he reaches out toward Beckett. Rather than pat her knee again, he rotates his wrist so that his palm faces up, hovering there as a silent effort to bridge the emotional gap between them. Beckett's hand finds his almost immediately. For a few calm, beautiful minutes, they simply sit in quiet communion, gathering strength and reconnecting.

Commotion below brings their quiet interlude to an end. "Shannon's family must be here," he says with a sigh. Standing, he uses their grasp to help her stand. "I need to change quickly and get down to greet them properly. You look as lovely as ever, but it's too bad we don't have a little more time to call Muriel – the wedding would be a great excuse to see you in a sundress," he says with a coy smile and a hint of his old playfulness.

"Okay, second confession," Beckett replies with a smile of her own. "Alexis called and she's already here. I just needed to make sure it was okay to stay."

"Of course Alexis called her," Castle says while shaking his head in proud exasperation, leading Beckett back into his bedroom. "Meet you downstairs?" he asks, pausing at the threshold of his room as he opens the door to the hallway.

"I'm looking forward to it," Beckett replies, giving his hand a squeeze.

* * *

"Hey, Lanie," Beckett says as her friend accepts the call. "I need a little pep talk."

" _What_?" Lanie asks, trying to catch up. " _Kate, what's going on_? _Javi said that you bailed out again. You're not back in LA, are you_?" she asks in a tone that's mostly joking.

"No," Beckett laughs, glad to have a little humor to loosen herself up. "I'm out at Castle's beach house, getting ready for a wedding."

" _You're *what*_?!" Lanie shrieks into the phone. " _Damn, girl, when you promise to show commitment, you don't mess around_!"

"No, no, no," Beckett says, though not quickly enough to hide the fact that Lanie's comment conjured some images that Beckett was trying to ignore. "You remember Shannon and Tommy? They're getting married."

" _Oh_ ," Lanie replies, trying to settle herself down. " _Sweet kids. I hope they make it. It's a good thing it's them and not you. Just for the record – if you ever get married without telling me I'll kick your skinny ass._ "

"Cart before the horse, Lanes," Beckett replies in a tone of exasperation.

" _So, Castle invited you to the wedding_?" Lanie presses, apparently ignoring the impromptu nature of Beckett's day off. " _That's got to be a good sign, right_?"

"He didn't invite me," Beckett starts to confess before her friend jumps in.

" _You go, girl_!" Lanie hoots on the other end of the phone. " _Crash that wedding and catch your boy when he's all starry-eyed and mushy. He won't know what hit him_!"

"I think it's more likely that a wedding would trigger PTSD for him," Beckett laughs, taking a moment to just enjoy herself and relax a bit. "Actually, I'll tell you the same thing I told Castle a few minutes ago – all I knew was that he was hosting a wedding at his beach house."

" _And you charged out there to stake your claim_?" Lanie asks while sounding impressed. " _His jaw musta hit the floor when he opened the door and saw you standing there_."

"He wasn't the one who opened the door," Beckett grimaces. "Winnie did. His blonde friend," Beckett explains. "His 'big sister.'"

" _His what now_?" Lanie asks in surprise. " _I thought he was an only child_."

"You were right about how they act together. I don't have the full story, yet, but she sure acts like a sister," Beckett grouses a bit. "She worked me over pretty well before she'd let me see Rick."

" _Hold on_ ," Lanie commands. " _I'm just trying to get this image in my head – that cute little blonde woman put herself between you and Castle_? _And it worked_?!"

"She's tougher than she looks," Beckett grumbles, before her discomfort prompts her to recall an earlier issue she'd not followed up in the shock of the case that led to learning about Castle's new job. "Just ask Espo – I think he's had a run-in with her."

" _Oh, really_?" Lanie replies in an ice-cold voice. Beckett wonders, briefly, if she should warn Esposito that trouble's heading his way, but quickly dismisses the thought. He'd looked guilty back when they pulled the DMV records, so he can explain to Lanie how he knew Winnie's name. " _That boy's got some 'splaining to do_."

"Don't hurt him too badly, Lanie," Beckett teases. "He's covering for me today."

" _So, what's the plan, then_?" Lanie asks, knocked back on track. " _You said you needed a pep talk – what's wrong_?"

"Nothing's _wrong_ ," Beckett admits, her voice lacking its usual assertive tone. "I'm just feeling a little exposed. I showed up here without warning, I don't know anyone, and there are firefighters all over the place."

" _Hmmmm_ ," Lanie hums in reply, and Beckett realizes her mistake immediately.

"I guess I shouldn't have mentioned that last bit about the firefighters?" she asks, laughing when her friend just keeps humming. "Or should I have mentioned the reception festivities will include pool and beach activities?"

" _How long does it take to get there_?" Lanie asks eagerly, pulling another laugh out of her friend.

"Thanks, Lanie. It's good to hear a friendly voice."

" _Castle hasn't been friendly_?" Lanie asks in surprise, wondering if this is what's really going on.

"He's been great," Beckett interjects quickly. "Well, not great, but receptive. He's still treading lightly, but he's made a few jokes and he invited me to stay. Even offered me his room."

" _With him in it, right_?" Lanie hoots again.

"That wasn't part of the hospitality package," Beckett replies in exasperation, rolling her eyes. "But I can't stay anyway – Montgomery'd have my head if I bailed out again."

" _I hear there's a nasty flu going around the Hamptons_ ," Lanie says with mock solemnity. " _I'm a doctor, I know these things. I could even write you a note._ "

"Thanks, Lanie," Beckett answers with a smile. "But Castle's got to get back tomorrow anyway for another shift at the firehouse. But he asked me to meet him at Remy's the day after."

" _Kate, that's wonderful_ ," Lanie says quietly, the earnestness in her voice replacing her usual brazen tone and making her reaction all the more meaningful as a result. " _He suggested it_?"

"That and a long talk," Beckett confesses, nervous about the talk but hopeful about signs of moving forward.

" _Sounds like driving out there was a very smart move_ ," Lanie say approvingly. " _Did you bring a dress to knock his socks off_?"

"I wish," Beckett laments before blushing slightly. "I didn't even let myself stop to think – just jumped in the cruiser and didn't stop until I got here. But Alexis set me up. She called a boutique owner while Winnie was grilling me. I owe that girl big-time. Again!"

" _I want pictures_ ," Lanie declares. " _I want to see this dress. And Castle. And this 'sister.' Just make sure there's lots of firefighters in the background. Especially around the pool. Wait, Castle must have a hot tub, right_?"

"Goodbye, Lanie," Beckett answers with a smile. "Any last words of advice?"

" _Don't screw it up_!" Lanie cheers happily.

* * *

"Look at Mr. Beachy," Fred says as Castle returns from showing Shannon's parents and grandmother to their rooms upstairs.

Looking down at his white linen shirt and khakis, Castle laughs in reply. "I don't get to wear sandals to formal events very often, so I've got to live it up."

"Well, it's a great look on you," Fred says appraisingly. "Almost looks like you took a little extra time to look good for some reason," she teases.

"Maybe," he answers with a faint blush. "What was your phrase? ' _We've chatted a bit and I haven't seen a reason to throw her out_ '? I know better than to think I can take her, though."

"Funny, I think that's exactly what she wants," Fred replies sassily with a perched brow, deepening his blush.

"Fred…"

"Just teasing," she replies. "Mostly. Now, for real, before she comes down: are you okay?" she asks seriously, capturing his eyes. "Do you want me to run interference or stay close or throw her out?"

"It's okay," Castle answers quickly. "I'm actually kind of impressed that she drove out here. You don't really know her, but it's not the kind of uncertainty she usually addresses head-on."

"Just be careful," Fred says seriously, leaning in to give him a peck on the cheek. "Like you've been telling me since we met, there's no timeline, right? Make sure you're ready."

Castle's answer is interrupted by a groan from Sully, one of his colleagues from the firehouse who's been wandering around trying to find his way back outside after visiting the restroom.

"Nice place you got here, Rick," he says with a smile, unable to pull his gaze from Fred even though he's talking to Castle. "You should hand out maps, though. How do I get back to the pool?"

"How worried should I be," Fred says as she turns to face Sully while leaning into Castle, "that the fireman can't seem to find the water?"

Sully, too dazed by a close-range blast of Fred's smiling, teasing look is spared from the need to respond as Beckett makes her appearance. Wearing an off-the-shoulder gauzy yellow sundress, she's a vision as she floats down the stairs, her slight case of nerves making her look all the more striking. Following Castle's stunned look, Sully turns away from Fred only to find himself confronted by another beautiful woman.

"You look gorgeous, Kate," Castle says shyly. "I feel like we should be heading to the MADT fundraiser."

"Castle…," Beckett trails off, barely managing to rein in her impulse to avoid his compliment. Part of showing him what they could be means accepting his compliments as well as his affection. So, instead of asking him to stop, she moves to his side and gives him a sweet kiss on the cheek. "Thank you, Rick."

A strangled gurgle from a gawping Sully recalls Castle's attention. "Sorry, Sully. This is Kate Beckett," he says as he looks to his side. Then, turning to his other side, "And this is Winnie Keates. Ladies, this is Bill Sullivan, one of the guys who's kept me from getting burnt to a crisp."

"Ladies," Sully offers with a general nod, still a little off balance. Then, after taking another look around the room and at Fred and Beckett, Sully finds his footing and addresses Castle. "You know, Rick, if you weren't such a good guy, it'd be _really_ easy to hate you."

Castle smirks and Fred looks offended, but it's Beckett who's about to reply when a new voice interjects. "Dad, it's time to take our seats for the ceremony. Oh, hello," Alexis says as she approaches the group, offering her hand to Sully. "I'm Alexis Castle. You must be Sully – Dad's told me all about you."

"This is your daughter?" Sully asks in surprise, coming near enough to gawking at Alexis, who looks lovely in the green dress that accents her coloring so well, that Castle's protective instincts have him tensing. "I give up," Sully grumbles as he throws his arms up and walks in the direction from which Alexis arrived.

"Did I do something wrong?" Alexis asks in surprise at Sully's abrupt departure.

"You were just too beautiful for poor Sully to handle," Castle assures his daughter with a careful kiss to her cheek. "You'll have to get used to reactions like that," he beams, before his look sours. "And I guess I will, too," he pouts, thinking about the men that are likely to chase after his daughter.

"Winnie and Kate can give me some tips," Alexis answers cheekily, drawing a smile from both women.

"And maybe Beckett can give me some guns," Castle grumbles just as quickly.

"A topic for _later_ ," Alexis replies in exasperation, though she's still blushing. "We need to get moving," she says as she offers an elbow to Fred, who looks at her with a cocked brow.

"Subtle," Fred and Beckett say at the same time, prompting Alexis to laugh as the ladies look at each other in surprise. Castle, meanwhile, offers an elbow to Beckett, who slides her arm through his.

"C'mon Beckett," he says quietly to her as they follow Alexis and Fred. "I've never been to one of these 'weddings' before. You can explain what's happening."

* * *

A/N: A few quick notes. As I've mentioned before, I didn't like the idea of splitting chapters. But this chapter hasn't even covered a full day of Week Twelve. Fred and Beckett had a lot to discuss when they finally met!

If you read the bit above, you might wonder if anything else is happening this week in the story, including Montgomery's promised explanation to Beckett and the continually-rescheduled Remy's outing. I'm hoping to have time to write the second half of this chapter while traveling.

I posted this chapter in an effort to maintain the once-per-week schedule. We're leaving for vacation as soon as it's up. So, my apologies: I don't expect that I'll be able to reply to any reviews or PMs while we're out (or post any reviews myself, for that matter). But I'll catch up as soon as I can. For my friends in the US, Happy Fourth of July!


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional.

* * *

 **Week Twelve (part two)**

"Has Dad talked to you yet?" Alexis asks as she approaches and stands beside Beckett, who's near the edge of the pool and enjoying the beautiful weather and warm optimism of young love suffusing the festivities.

"About?" Beckett temporizes, certain that Castle wouldn't have mentioned their upcoming talk with his daughter.

"I was hoping I could catch a ride back to the City with you," Alexis asks shyly. "I can't miss another day of school so I need to go back tonight and he's still a little paranoid about personal security. Paul's great," she clarifies quickly, "but I'd rather travel with you."

"Sure," Beckett answers happily, touched by Alexis' request. "That sounds like fun. When do you need to leave?"

"Not before you and Dad have your _real_ talk," Alexis answers slyly. Chuckling at Beckett's sputtering, she bumps shoulders with the detective. "You didn't have time before the ceremony and it's pretty clear that you need some quiet time together. Just let me know if you need a distraction to slip away. Yelling 'Fire!' would probably be a bad idea with this crowd," she says with a look that's eerily reminiscent of her father's impish expression, "but I can think of something."

Calming herself down, Beckett cuts a look at the young woman while taking another drink of her iced coffee. "You know," she says in a low tone as she lowers the glass, "I used to think Castle was exaggerating with his stories about you taking care of him. Be gentle with me, please."

Laughing delightedly, Alexis misses the approach of an attractive brunette who can't help but smile in reply to the young woman's mirth.

"Ms. Castle?" the woman asks while extending a hand. "I'm Monica Costa," she explains with a smile. "Ben's wife. I wanted to introduce myself and thank you and your father for hosting."

"Pleased to meet you," Alexis answers with a radiant smile while Beckett notices her social poise and grace, recognizing bits of both Rick and Martha in evidence. "Please, call me Alexis. And we were happy to host. Tommy's great and I really like Shannon," she says as all three woman crane their necks to locate the new couple, finding them on the dance floor that's been set up near the beach access.

"Oh!" Alexis says as they turn back from the happy couple. "Ms. Costa, this is Kate Beckett, a friend of my father's."

Quirking an eyebrow, offers a hand and a secret smile. "'The Extraordinary KB,'" she says happily. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"It's Kate," Beckett answers, following her earlier sputtering with a blush now, and deciding it's best to leave the rest of that statement alone.

"So you've read Dad's books?" Alexis asks Monica while giving Beckett a furtive wink, providing cover.

"Many times," Monica laughs, "each and every one. It's probably the real reason Old Ben might not've been happy when he heard your father was joining his firehouse," she says to Alexis with a laugh and waggling eyebrows. "I'm sorry, Kate," she says while turning to Beckett. "I didn't mean to embarrass you. We can just chalk that one up to envy. Anyone in my book club would happily bump you off and take your place."

"So, Captain Costa wasn't a big fan of having Dad around?" Alexis follows up, surprised that she'd not heard this from her father.

Waving a hand, Monica dismisses any concern. "You've probably heard all about my Ben," she says, not realizing that both women recognize and admire the obvious affection Monica holds for her husband. "He can be a bit of a grouch, especially if you don't know how to read his 50 shades of gripe. But he's really a teddy bear."

This doesn't quite square with Beckett's recollection of the growling menace who blocked her path that terrible night when she watched Castle charge into a burning building, but she holds her tongue. Besides, she knows all too well that some people, often the ones she admires most, figure out a way to leave their suit of workplace armor behind so they can be a caring person at home. It's a skill she's starting to look forward to learning.

"And as for his thoughts about your father," Monica continues with a nod toward the two men over by the bar, "I expect he's making his pitch for an extended tour right now."

* * *

"Nice party," Costa says while nodding in the direction of the festivities. Since they're on the fringe of the action, his nod encompasses pretty much the whole affair – the pool, dance floor, beach, and catering tents. It's a setup that works remarkably well, allowing guests to circulate at their leisure while allowing a little slice of many of the things the Hamptons have to offer.

"They deserve it," Castle answers, eyes alighting on the happy couple. Tommy's managed to misplace the sling he should still be wearing, but he's probably too blissed out from the wedding to notice. And if he's happy, Shannon looks incandescent. No one felt the near end of their story as acutely as her, as she made apparent when she offered a toast to Castle after the Best Man's speech. There weren't many dry eyes after she described exactly how barren her life would've been had Castle not pulled Tommy from the flames. And the few holdouts fell when Shannon pulled Castle onto the dance floor after dancing with her father. But tears turned to laughter as Shannon's grandmother insisted on getting a piece of the action afterwards, reaching out and hauling Castle back onto the floor. She's still out there now, a 78-year old dynamo anxious to "shake it 'til I break it," currently putting Fred through the paces.

"Yeah," Costa grunts in reply. "But d'you mean Tommy and Shannon or the rest of the crew?"

"All of 'em," Caste replies with a smile as he scans the crowd, happy that he's managed to provide an opportunity to relax and cut loose.

"Owe you an apology," Costa says, standing at Castle's side where he, too, surveys the crowd. While surprised, Castle holds his tongue. His time working at the firehouse has taught him a bit about his Captain and he knows an interruption wouldn't be appreciated. Truth be told, Costa's personality resonates with Castle, who can easily imagine the narrative possibilities of the gruff authority figure of the firehouse. So, rather than speak, Castle just turns to Costa and raises an eyebrow.

"I was wrong, back when we met," Costa replies, still looking out across the pool. "Turns out you learned how to scratch your ass in far less than three months."

Delighting in being caught by surprise, Castle releases a rich laugh, noticing when it catches the attention of a small group including his daughter, Beckett, and a woman he's not yet met. "Naturally gifted," he replies, harkening back to Costa's comments from their first meeting.

But Costa doesn't laugh, he just nods along. "It's been good to have you around. You got a way with people – don't think the 'house's ever run as smooth as in the last few months. You're good for the boys and the gals like you, too."

"They're good people," Castle replies earnestly. "They make it easy."

"Don't necessarily agree with you there," Costa says as his eyes find a few of the problem children under his watch. "But maybe they've learned something while you've been around. Something other than poetry," he says, cutting a quick look at a smirking Castle. "Don't suppose we can get you to stay?"

With a sigh, Castle grits his teeth and admits to the death of this endeavor. "We both know the ride's over," he says sadly, catching Costa's slow nod in his peripheral vision as they continue to insist on being men by having a meaningful conversation without looking at each other. "If I was really Rick Rodgers, I'd be tempted to stay. I could be happy there," he says wistfully, thinking of the better moments of the last score of weeks. "But I'm not Rick Rodgers. I'm Rick Castle. And now that people know who I am, Sal won't let me do the job the right way. He'd keep pulling me out, separating me, and that'd only breed resentment and discontent. You don't need that," he offers quietly. "It's a hard enough job without that nonsense."

Costa duplicates Castle's sigh. "I should kick your ass, you know," he says gruffly. Having a pretty good idea what the rough threat really means, Castle hides the smile he feels blooming inside. "Back when I met you at the diner, I figured you were just some jackass who was gonna make my life more difficult. And I guess you have. Because you've made me realize that it's my boss who's the jackass making life more difficult, not you."

"It's not really his fault," Castle admits, knowing that his (in)famous reputation would probably disrupt his efforts whether Sal or someone else was the Commissioner. Really, he's been surprised that it hadn't become a problem at the 12th, which he attributes to Montgomery's leadership and the steadfast refusal of Beckett's team to dwell on his efforts or reputation outside of the precinct. "Still," he admits, "he could've been more relaxed about it."

"Damn right," Costa nods in agreement. "Well, I had to take my shot. And don't think this means I'm gonna go light on you for the next week and change."

"Of course not," Castle agrees. "And I'll still screw up."

"Damn right," Costa repeats himself. Castle thinks he can just discern the hint of a smile from Costa before Dave, his burly colleague, saunters over.

"Hey, Rick," Dave's deep voice rumbles. "Where's Tommy's car? We got a few decorations to send 'em off right but we can't find the damn thing."

Costa just shakes his head. "The car he'd be driving while his arm's in a sling and he's on painkillers?" he grouses.

"We made other arrangements," Castle offers, the friendly counterpoint to Costa's brusque reply. "You'll know when it arrives," he says while looking at his watch, "and I think you'll approve."

* * *

"Looks like Winnie wants a turn," Beckett says as she squeezes Castle's hand as they leave the dance floor.

"Do you mind?" he asks, and inside, Beckett rejoices. They haven't had their talk yet (though she's noticed Alexis keeping a vigilant eye on them), but spending time together, whether dancing or socializing with the wedding attendees, is helping them find their footing. Castle's fragile politeness has slipped more than a few times, revealing the man she remembers from before their estrangement.

"I've learned better than to antagonize your sister," Beckett replies with a smile. "Besides, I could use a little break. You danced me off my feet, Castle."

He manages to hold his tongue, but based on his expression they both know he withheld a highly suggestive riposte to her comment. Squeezing her hand and still smiling, he leans close to speak in a low tone. "Use my room," he suggests. "If you want to take a few minutes to relax or dodge Shannon's bionic-hipped grandmother."

"Thanks, Rick," she says, making use of his proximity and surprising him with a kiss on the cheek before tugging on his hand to deliver him to his sibling.

"He's worn me out," she exaggerates to Fred. "Maybe you can outdance him."

"I don't see why today would be different than any other," she says haughtily, smirking at Castle who's already puffing up at the challenge. Chuckling, Beckett transfers his hand to Fred and watches them walk to the dance floor before deciding to accept Castle's offer.

Castle's room offers a welcomed respite. As much fun as this afternoon's proven to be, meeting so many new people while trying to reconnect with Castle at the same time has been emotionally draining. Trust Castle to recognize it and offer her quiet place to recharge. Taking advantage of the private restroom, Beckett notices with a smile that he wasn't kidding about the size of his tub – it's nearly the size of the hot tub outside and opens daydream doors that she's determined to keep shut for now.

Instead, she slips out to the balcony, careful to move stealthily and avoid notice from below. From her vantage here above the party, she can see everything, including the dance floor. Castle's talking with the DJ, apparently making some requests. And the DJ's no fool – it sounds like he adjusts his playlist quickly. If Beckett's surprised by the switch from pop and ballroom music to country, she's even more shocked when the music draws a laughing crowd that forms around Castle and Fred. Taking a seat, Beckett pulls herself up to the railing of the balcony to watch the show.

And what a show it is. This is obviously not the first time Castle and Fred have danced together. As the more casual dancers around them fall away laughing, unable to match their moves or tempo, the adopted siblings laugh and cavort. Beckett's surprised to find that she's not jealous – Fred's interrogation made the nature of her interest in Castle perfectly clear. If anything, Beckett suspects that she owes Fred for helping Castle in the aftermath of their separation. She plays with this thought for a few minutes before she remembers Lanie's earlier request. Pulling out her phone, she records some of the festivities for her friend, including Castle and his sister dancing like maniacs. Then, with a smile, she pans the camera to make Lanie happy by catching some extraneous footage from around the pool.

Several minutes later, Beckett starts to wonder why she's removed herself. The activity below, and its host, seems to tug on her in an unfamiliar but welcomed way. So, she stows her phone and slips off the balcony and back into Castle's room. Before she pads downstairs, though, she takes a quick detour to his bed, where she sits down and pulls the Fleming book into her lap. Opening it carefully, she's happy to see her birthday card for him is still inside. The envelope is creased and abused despite the protective shell of the book, evidence that the card within has been extracted and reinserted many times. Feeling exceptionally foolish, she pulls out the card and leaves a kiss inside before stuffing it back inside with a blush. Embarrassed by her unwitnessed act of mushiness and blanching at how Lanie would react if she knew, Beckett hurries out of the room and to the kitchen in search of one more comfort before returning to Castle.

His coffee machine here is just as nice as the one in the loft, and she's glad she recalls his instructions from her stay there as she goes through the motions. While a neat glass of whiskey would be perfect, she needs to keep a clear head for their conversation and the drive home with Alexis. For the first time, it dawns on her that the ride home could be exceptionally uncomfortable if their talk doesn't go well.

"If I said you had a good body for a cop," Beckett's startled to hear someone say behind her, "would you hold it against me?"

Beckett chuckles in pure incredulity as she turns, noting that the speaker looks put out at her response. Apparently he wasn't going for humor.

"I haven't heard that line since before I had a driver's license," Beckett says, exaggerating slightly while shaking her head. "It hasn't improved with age," she says while rolling her eyes and turning back to Castle's Italian marvel. Her hands are occupied when she feels a hand on her upper arm, which was either effective planning by her creeper or dumb luck.

"I can do better," he promises while looking at her hopefully.

Spinning out of his grip and giving up her coffee as a lost cause, Beckett frees her hands so that she doesn't find herself at a disadvantage again. "I'm not interested," she says in as polite a tone as she can manage for a stranger who thought it was okay to touch her. "The party's out back. That's where you need to be."

"But the bedrooms are upstairs," the man says in reply. "That's where _you_ need to be. With me."

"Not going to happen," Beckett says sternly, losing her patience. "It's time for you to leave."

"I been looking forward to meeting you," the man says, studying Beckett with glassy eyes that fail to disguise his prurient interest. "Been wondering what makes a hottie like you willing to be a backup screw. Trust me, baby, with me you'd always be number one."

It's been a while since Beckett last had to deal with such a reprehensible cockroach and she's a little out of practice. Reminding herself that it would be poor manners, and an uncomfortably abrupt end to the party, to incapacitate this jerk, she opts for a verbal assault that will make her lack of interest, and his lack of decency, apparent.

Unfortunately, he's misinterpreted the few seconds in which Beckett was rejecting the notion of inflicting bodily harm as uncertainty or vulnerability on her part and speaks again. "He's been nailing her for months, you know, blondie out there," he promises silkily. "When he wasn't off screwing his ex-wife. Why take a number for him when you can just take me right here?"

The sheer ridiculousness of this creep, of the notion that he thinks this kind of approach could lead to anything but a knee between the legs, astounds her. Has she been teleported back to high school, where fumbling pimple-faced boys convinced that three hairs constitute a mustache come up with any outrageous lie out of pure, desperate hope for any kind of female companionship?

"You know," she offers, surprising them both by responding conversationally, "I'm ashamed to admit there was a time when I might've let a comment like that shake my faith in Castle. Maybe dealing with you is some kind of karmic penance," she says with a quirk of her lips, amused at the concept. "But I don't feel doubt, or uncertainty. No," she says confidently while looking directly at him, "the only thing I'm feeling right now, aside from revulsion, is pity. Pity for a sad excuse who tries to make himself look better by dishonoring a good man."

Looking like he's been hit with a stone between the eyes, the man rocks back on his heels. But rather than leave with his tail between his legs, he lifts a finger to point accusingly at Beckett as his look of confusion clears. "You're just a groupie," he accuses. "Falling on your back for the big hotshot writer. You're nothing but a wh…"

" _That's enough_ ," barks Castle, who seems to have appeared out of nowhere. "Your ride is here, Matt. As the lady said, it's time for you to leave."

"It's a party," Matt drawls, spinning to face Castle and adopting an obsequious smile, as if thinking that Castle somehow didn't hear the venom he was spewing. "And I ain't ready to leave yet."

"Whether you're ready or not," Castle growls, "I'm unwilling to extend my hospitality to you any longer."

"Not your party," Matt says petulantly. "You didn't get married," he says, then laughs at the thought.

"Shannon agrees with me," Castle replies easily. "As do the guests who heard your comments about other ladies, including my daughter, before you came slinking in here."

"Mister big man," Matt charges in response, looking increasingly uncomfortable. "Mister rich boy with a bar and a beach house, mister hero to the bride. Is that your thing?" he asks, catching on a way to hit back at Castle. "You need to feel good by saving people? That's it, isn't it, why you're playing fireman? You probably set this whole thing up so you could come in and save the cop."

"Matty, you unbelievable idiot," Castle answers with a shake of his head, "Beckett is the absolute last person at this party who'd need to be rescued. In fact," he says musingly, warming to this topic, "the only life I probably saved here is yours."

"Yeah, right," Matt replies with a huff, though he seems to shrink a bit when neither Beckett nor Castle change expression. "So, that's it? You side with her after all we did for you?"

"Even if she were not completely in the right, I'd side with her," Castle agrees. "She's my partner," he says as if this explains everything.

"Firemen don't have partners," Matt replies accusingly.

"No, they don't," Castle agrees. "Guess I'm not a fireman," he says easily, surprising both Matt and Beckett.

"Paul?" Castle calls, waiting only seconds before the liveried driver from Castle's car service steps into the room behind him. "Here's how this works, Matt. I don't care if you go back to the hotel, back to the City, or somewhere else, but you're gone. Leave now, without a scene, and we chalk this up to drunken idiocy. But if you're not off my property in three minutes, I'll physically remove you in front of the whole crew," he promises, looking intrigued by the prospect. "Unless Beckett beats me to it."

Giving Castle the once-over, Matt either decides that he looks too big or too angry to try his luck, and that's without considering Paul or others from outside who'd likely lend a hand. Looking cornered, Matt grumbles dark imprecations that he's careful to leave below the range of audibility.

"One more thing," Castle adds to further clarify Matt's situation. "Paul was a damn fine Marine," Castle mentions casually as Paul straightens for inspection. "And the only thing he babies more than his car and his sidearm," Castle says pointedly as Paul unbuttons his coat to display a fearsome looking weapon, "is my daughter, about whom you've said some disgusting things. So, if I were you, I'd tread very carefully around him. Now," Castle says sternly, the reference to Matt's earlier comments stoking his anger again, " _leave_."

Literally surrounded and suspecting that he's unlikely to find any sympathetic colleagues at the party, Matt spins to stomp out, but finds he lacks the equilibrium for such a move. Stumbling, he's not even made it another step before Paul's hand clasps his bicep. Offended and humiliated, Matt tries and fails to pull his arm free. Only with Paul's obvious collaboration and release of his arm does Matt regain his freedom to stalk out of the house.

"Thanks, Paul," Castle says earnestly. "I owe you. Let me know how this turns out."

Paul offers a quick nod before moving quickly to keep an eye on Matt, leaving Beckett and Castle alone again.

"I'm really sorry about that, Kate," Castle apologizes as he steps to the counter to brew a cup of coffee for her. "Matt's been a bit passive-aggressive toward me, but I never would've expected anything like that."

"Not your fault," Beckett says as she watches Paul leave the house. "Besides, I know how to handle myself, as you said so eloquently."

Blushing, Castle nods. "I didn't mean to interfere and I know you could've taken care of him, but I wasn't going to listen to that. It's like I said earlier, I don't want to hear anyone talking you down."

"So, you heard it all, then?" Beckett asks, then continues to make it clear that she's not testing him and he shouldn't try to talk around her question, either. "The reference to it being 'time for him to leave' happened pretty early."

With his blush deepening a shade, Castle purses his lips to fight a smile. "' _Karmic penance_ ,' Beckett? Really?"

Sharing his blush, Beckett might feel a little embarrassed about her comment to Matt, but privately she's happy Castle overheard her. What she said was honest and might help them reconnect. "What can I say?" she asks with a shrug. "My _partner_ ," she pauses, giving him a look to let him know how much she appreciated his comments in that regard, "must've been a bad influence."

"First time I've been accused of that," he says glibly, clearly lying. "Seriously, though, are you okay?"

"I'm f…," Beckett starts to say before she cuts herself off, realizing that she's not fine. "No. You know what? I'm frustrated," she admits, leaning back into the counter to watch Castle attend to her needs, again without request or discussion. "It's been _months_ , Rick, and every time we seem to have a chance to talk something interferes. A bomb. A request from your friend that forces you out of the precinct. A burning building. Royce's murder and investigation. A fireman who makes me wonder why it's cops who're called pigs. Why can't we catch a break?" she asks in exasperation.

"Do you remember our talk at the precinct about a month ago?" he asks, still working on her drink. "The one…"

"After the _Temptation Lane_ case," Beckett picks up. "When you gave me the picture for which I never said thanks?"

"That was nothing," Castle waves her comment away with a hand. "Besides, I still haven't thanked you for my birthday gift," he reminds them both, then blushes. "Anyway," he says, returning to his point, "I said we were getting there, that things would just take some time. We're still moving, Kate. We have time. We'll get there," he says as he extends the coffee mug to her.

"But where?" Beckett asks earnestly as she covers his hand rather than accept the mug. She's keenly interested in his answer, his thoughts on what their future might hold. "Where are we go…"

Beckett stops speaking as the sound of a siren cuts through the late afternoon air.

"Oh, _come on_!" Beckett curses, incredulous that their efforts to talk are being disturbed _again_ , right after she complained about interruptions! " _Now_ what?!"

Chuckling, Castle turns to place the mug of coffee back on the counter. Offering an elbow instead, he aims them toward the back door. "Don't worry," he says lightly. "This one's on me and it isn't a disaster, just a short delay. It's time for Tommy and Shannon to leave the reception," he explains as he walks them out to the back patio where people are gathering to investigate the commotion.

Releasing Beckett's arm, Castle joins his captain and the two of them get everyone organized. Moving as a group around the house to the circular drive, they see an old-fashioned fire engine idling. It's a beautiful vehicle, gleaming and polished, clearly used for parades and events rather than the rigors of front-line firefighting.

Wary of leaving Beckett alone after what happened with Matt, Castle returns to her side quickly with Alexis and Fred in tow. They're just turning to watch the engine when Dave sidles up next to Castle.

"This what you planned?" he asks, his deep voice catching the attention of the whole group.

"Seemed appropriate," Cast answers with a smile and a nod. "Should look good in the photos, too," he says as they watch the young couple step up to the vehicle, the photographer and her assistant hovering around and snapping busily.

"What'd it cost you?" Dave says to Castle as the group watches Shannon slip into the cab, followed by a beaming Tommy.

"Nothing. Professional courtesy," Castle replies, pulling a snort from Dave, who shakes his head in disbelief.

"Sure," he answers, clearly not buying Castle's line. "Where were you when I got hitched?" he says as he watches Shannon crank the siren, smiling wide for her assembled friends and family.

"Sorry, Dave," Castle answers while waving at the engine as it starts to depart, "but you're not really my type."

With a laugh, Dave chucks Castle on the arm. Meant affectionately, it still knocks Castle sideways thanks to Dave's strength.

As the antique fire engine disappears from view, taking the young couple away to enjoy their first night as husband and wife, the wedding organizer steps forward and announces that the bus service will start shuttling people back to their hotels and will continue to do so until 10:00, after which cabs are available.

While most people drift back to the pool deck and dance floor, some start moving towards their cars or the executive bus, intent to get back to the City this evening. It reminds Beckett that she needs to be back at the precinct in the morning, and that she agreed to drive Alexis back to the loft where Martha awaits.

"Rick," she says quickly, pulling him aside before anyone else can catch his attention. "Are you up for a walk?"

As if her use of his first name wasn't enough of a clue about what she has in mind, Alexis' beaming smile and Fred's protective look certainly give the game away. She wonders briefly if Castle intended to hold their talk for the Remy's date, but she doesn't want to wait – he seems willing to talk today (maybe Lanie was right about the wedding atmosphere) and with her luck something else would come up to postpone their seemingly doomed outing for burgers and milkshakes. Unsure, too, about Castle's thoughts and whether he thinks her request is somehow motivated by the unfortunate scene in his kitchen, she holds her breath, and her smile, for his reply.

"I shouldn't," he answers, sounding like someone whose will is crumbling at the dessert buffet, "but let's get out of here," he says with a playful smile that she's missed for months. "Let me just ask Alexis and Fred to take over the hosting duties." With that explanation, he turns to the two ladies and engages in a quick conversation, getting ready nods. Both women offer him a kiss on the cheek, but Fred pulls him close to whisper into his ear. Her departing words take longer than Beckett would've expected, eventually making her fidget, but Castle seems no more closed off when he steps back to rejoin her.

"All set," he says with a smile as he walks back to Beckett. With his back to her, Castle can't see Fred use two fingers to point to her own eyes before bringing them together to point at Beckett, making her intent to watch Beckett carefully apparent (as if her earlier comments weren't a clear declaration).

Unaware of this extra level of protection, Castle sidles up next to Beckett and again offers her an elbow. It's very courtly, she thinks, but confusing, too. But whether he's signaling affection or polite manners, she's still happy to slip her arm through his. She's surprised when he guides them toward the front door to his house rather than around the back, since she'd assumed they'd walk on the beach. Perhaps they're heading back to the balcony, she thinks as he leads her to the stairs, but then he surprises her by leaving her there at the bottom.

"Be right back," he assures her before bounding up the stairs. He's back moments later, sweaters draped over his arm. Again, she shakes her head at his family's habit of taking care of people. He notices and gives her a questioning look, but she demurs with a smile and another shake of her head.

Yet again, he offers an elbow, and again Beckett slips into place at his side. "Ready?" he asks with some trepidation, prompting raised brows from her. "Whatever you do, don't stop walking," he warns her as they approach the back patio door that admits them to the pool deck.

The nature of his warning soon becomes apparent. With their linked arms and sweaters, it's obvious that they're cutting out for a while and Castle's coworkers don't let him slip away unannounced. Catcalls, whistles, and admonitions for Beckett to wake up or for Castle to stay away from a cop follow them as they slip away, some comments causing laughs and others blushes.

"Quiet group you got there," Beckett says with rosy cheeks, privately happy to finally be on the sand and away from others, especially Castle's colleagues.

"You have no idea," Castle sighs in reply, obviously happy himself to be away from the group, too. "Could you've imagined a place where I wasn't the talker in the group?"

"Now you're just messing with me," Beckett says as they walk to the water's edge, taking the opportunity to bump shoulders with him for the first time in a long while. It brings a sweet, reminiscent smile to her lips.

"Your house is beautiful, Rick," Beckett says as they move away from it, taking the opportunity to spin on the sand and see it from farther away. Then, reminding herself that time is pressing and reserve hasn't served her well, she decides to jump right into their conversation. "I wish I would've seen it last year."

Her admission causes a little stutter-step as Castle breaks stride to look at her. "So much for small talk," he says in a voice that mixes anxiety and humor. "We're just jumping in, then?"

"Please?" Beckett asks with wide eyes, making Castle wonder if any man could resist such an appeal. "Just one thing before we get started. Can I ask a favor?"

"Not if it involves a garden hose or a carwash," he grouses good-naturedly in reply, earning another shoulder bump.

"I'll talk to Tommy next time I need a garden hose," Beckett sasses in reply before growing serious. "Will you be patient with me?"

"What?" Castle replies in surprise. "You _do_ know who I am, right? Not sure anyone at the precinct would characterize me as _patient_."

"Then they'd be wrong," she answers seriously. "It took me longer than I'd like to admit, but I'm starting to figure you out. Remember what I said in LA? _I know you, Rick_ ," Beckett repeats, happy with this unexpected chance to connect back to her declaration there. "You're a very patient man – you had to be to make it as long as you did before you had to leave. I just need a little bit of that patience for our talk in case I mess up. I'm trying here, Rick, but I can't afford another talk like we had when you told me you were leaving the precinct."

Castle remains quiet for a few strides, thinking back to that discussion that seems like years ago, rather than months. Beckett hadn't reacted well, often falling back on anger when surprised. But she tried again after she had some time to think, and he hardly acquitted himself well. "You too, right?" he asks quietly. "I wasn't exactly on my game in LA. I wasn't very polite, either."

"Hush," Beckett says gently, not wanting to start this conversation with apologies from Castle, especially when she considers his crimes in this regard to pale in comparison to hers. "So, we're on the same page, right? There's too much at stake here to let clumsy words tear us apart? If this conversation goes poorly we can try again?"

"Yes," Castle avows, quietly impressed by Beckett's approach. He'd prefer that she not run, but he's glad to see that she's taking steps to provide them with a net. Besides, she's not the only one who might botch things.

"Thank you," Beckett answers earnestly, squeezing the arm she's holding as an extra way to show her appreciation. Castle misunderstands the gesture, though, thinking she's cold.

"Sorry," he says, stopping in place and dropping his arm so that he can hold up the sweater he brought for her. Now that they've stopped, Beckett belatedly realizes that she _is_ cold. While her sundress is fabulous, it's meant for very warm weather, and the wind off the water is starting to cut through her.

"Thanks, Castle," she says in appreciation as she slides her arms into the sleeves of the chunky, cable-knit sweater he brought for her. While he tugs a sweater over his head, Beckett snuggles into her sweater and pushes home the large, knotty buttons.

"Did you steal this from Winnie?" she asks as she draws in her arms to her chest to feel cozy.

"No," he laughs, tangled in his own sweater with his arms stuck over his head. Beckett laughs, too, stepping forward to help him navigate the sweater. She can't help but to think back to when she visited him in the hospital and is tempted to frame the same picture as his nurse, Brenda. It takes a few moments and a few laughs and grunts, but when he's finally sorted in his sweater, he huffs a "thank you" and extends an elbow to Beckett once again.

This time, though, Beckett takes the initiative. Rather than link her arm through his, she lets her hand skitter down his forearm until she clasps his hand. Caught by surprise, Castle walks a few steps while looking at her hand before finally lacing his fingers with hers and letting their hands fall to their sides.

"Alexis, then?" Beckett says, not breaking from the previous topic.

"No, it's yours, actually," he says with a self-conscious shrug. "It was your birthday present. I picked it up in Ireland on my last book tour there."

"Castle," she objects with a teasing tone, "you got me gummy bears and a cheesy card for my last birthday."

"No, that's what I _gave_ you," he answers more seriously than she expected. "The sweater's what I _got_ for you. But you came in that morning wearing the scarf Josh had given you and the sweater didn't feel right – it seemed like I was trying to one-up him," he explains with a shrug. "So, I left it in my bag and improvised while you were talking to Montgomery."

Well, she thinks, _that_ explains the card. She doesn't remember it exactly (though she still has it at home and can check later tonight), but there was some pun about feeling 'sheepish' that makes a lot more sense for a gift of a wool sweater than it did for gummy bears (at least he didn't try to edit the card to say something about feeling 'beary sheepish'). What she does remember, though, is talking up her scarf in an attempt to make herself feel better about what she thought was a pretty disappointing and impersonal gift. She hadn't intended Castle to take notice, but obviously he did.

"Thank you," she says sincerely, squeezing his hand, "for being so considerate. Especially now that I understand exactly how much that might've bothered you."

Though it was obviously going to be a part of this discussion, Castle regrets that Josh came up so early. Gritting his teeth at the reminder, he simply nods in acknowledgment. Beckett's far too sharp to miss his reaction.

"I'm so sorry, Rick," she says in a low voice. "I've spent so much time thinking about what you said when you left the precinct, about hiding from you. About holding you off. About not being fair to you."

Her initial salvo launched, Beckett looks up at Castle, whose gaze seems locked on the horizon. The lack of a verbal response puts her on edge – the last time this happened was in LA and it signaled a big miscommunication. Worried that the same is happening here, she's trying to figure out how to prompt some discussion when he breaks his silence.

"I've spent a lot of time thinking about what you said in LA," Castle begins in a low tone, causing Beckett to lean close to hear him over the lapping of the water. "It wasn't comfortable," he complains with a huff. "First, you said some things that knocked me on my ass. Then, when I talked about it with her, Fred kicked me in the ass," he huffs again, then goes quiet in recollection. "I guess what I'm trying to say is that I appreciate some of where you're coming from."

"Some?" Beckett asks, trying to get to the root of their trouble.

"Look," Castle says in some frustration, running his free hand through his hair. "I get that I was a jerk when we met. I was in a dark place and was doing anything – everything – to ignore it. So, as much as I wish things had gone differently, I'm not sure I can complain about Demming. I should've made my interest in you clear. To you, obviously," he says to clarify, "but also to him when he asked if we were together. _Not_ to speak for you," he says hurriedly, free hand help up in a defensive position, "but to let him know he'd have competition. But _I_ stepped away and _I_ let my hurt feelings open the door for Gina. I'd have to a pretty big ass to blame you for that."

Surprised at his candor, Beckett's framing her response when he speaks again.

"And as much as I hate saying this," Castle admits with a sour look, "I can't really blame you for taking up with Josh while I was with Gina."

Shocked anew by how far he's gone, Beckett's happy that Castle's provided a theory she can refute. "You can, actually," Beckett disagrees. "Remember what you said on your balcony? That I was the brave one? I'm not, Rick," she says seriously. "If I was brave, I could've saved us both a lot of heartache, and maybe given us another year together, with a single sentence."

Castle looks at her in surprise. She can tell that he's trying to be noble, trying to help them get to the real issues that lie at the heart of their missteps and misunderstandings. But he's also curious. As much as he wants to move on, he wants to hear this sentence. He's probably also noticed her 'another' slip, too.

"How might things have played out differently," she asks, "if one year ago I would've pulled you aside and said 'I broke up with Demming so I could accept your invitation to the Hamptons?'"

Castle stops walking and looks at her in shock. "It this a hypothetical question, or…"

"It's an actual scenario," Beckett interrupts. "I'd planned on telling you at your party."

"Then why didn't you?" Castle asks in frustration, pulling his hand from her grasp. "A year ago! We could've…," he trails off, unwilling to articulate how things might've differed.

"Because I was afraid, Rick," she answers directly, trying to mask her hurt. She _knew_ this conversation would be uncomfortable. How did Castle describe it earlier – 'messy, uncomfortable, and embarrassing'? He wasn't wrong. "Afraid that I'd fallen for the image, afraid that after fighting an attraction to you for more than a year I'd misunderstood your intent. You replaced me like _that_ , Castle," she says with a snap of her fingers. "You asked me to go away with you and then suddenly your ex-wife is there in my place, without a blink from you. How would you feel?" she challenges. "How was I not supposed to feel replaceable?"

"But you were going away with Demming!" Castle's frustration erupts. "Was I just supposed to sit around and wait?"

"No," Beckett answers immediately. "But I don't think waiting through your going away party was asking too much. You brought her into my workplace! How the hell was I supposed to react to that? I work with _detectives_ , Castle – they knew what I was about to do. And then _she's_ there. It was absolutely humiliating," she confesses, her veneer of anger cracking to reveal the sorrow underneath. "I made myself a promise that day – I wouldn't fall for that trick again."

"It wasn't a trick," Castle offers from his heels, head spinning with this insight into what a disaster he'd unwittingly created last year.

"I know that _now_ ," Beckett offers quietly in reply, calming herself down. "I was starting to figure that out when you pulled me to your side and yanked all the wires out of the dirty bomb."

"So," he replies, thinking hard about he just heard her confess, "when you were with Josh and started to understand my interest in you…"

"It was like Demming all over again," she says with a sad nod. "Look, I know you don't like him. Truth be told, he's not high on my list right now, either," she says with a huff, looking away from Castle and out over the water. "But back then, Josh seemed like a perfectly nice guy, maybe someone I could see myself getting serious with. And then, just like with Demming, you pop up again. And _again_ I have to choose between the certainty of something that might be okay and the promise of something with you. But this time I didn't risk turning him away only to be replaced again. I decided to keep my promise to myself."

Watching Castle's face reminds Beckett of a lesson from the Academy, one that hit far too close to home and helped cement the walls she used to hide her emotional vulnerability. The lecture discussed the Kübler-Ross model, better known as the five stages of grief. Ostensibly, the lesson was intended to help cadets identify when a potential witness or suspect was more likely to be aggressive; the hidden message was to schedule interrogations to coincide with an amenable grief stage. Just in this conversation, though, Castle's wreaked havoc with the model. He skipped right past denial to land on anger, and now he's skipped the bargaining stage and looks to be rounding into depression. That's not where she wants this conversation to go, so Beckett steps up to redirect the discussion.

"But here's the thing, Rick," she says as she gently reaches out for his hand again, waiting patiently while he considers her gesture before slowly, warily, extending his hand again. "I was starting to figure it out. Maybe I should've realized things sooner, but it seemed like every time we grew closer something else happened to push us apart. Until the one piece of evidence that opened my eyes," she says, looking down at his hand that she's holding in both of hers. "Well, that's not really true," she says with a huff as she looks up into his curious eyes. "I should say that it _closed_ my eyes."

"The kiss?" he asks, catching on quickly enough that Beckett suspects he's been dwelling on it, too.

"The kiss," she confirms, blushing. "That wasn't cover, that wasn't a friendly kiss…," she trails off, recalling the feel of a kiss that nearly wiped their desperate mission from her mind. "That was… transcendent," she says in awed, embarrassed tone as her head falls again to hide her blush. Castle gives her hands a squeeze to show his appreciation, but keeps quiet in recognition of the moment.

"But it wasn't just the kiss," Beckett starts again in a low tone. "It was how you acted afterward. You didn't bray about it, didn't push me to follow it up. You were shy, maybe even embarrassed," she recalls, and now Castle's the one blushing and looking down. "You acted more like someone who tipped his hand and worried about showing his true feelings than a prowling lothario who took advantage of a situation and then tried to compromise me. Because we both know that you started that first kiss, but I'm the one who dove in for the second one."

"I'd convinced myself I imagined that," Castle confesses, using his free hand to rub the back of his neck. "Seemed too good to be true."

"So I really started thinking about what was going on between us, how I ended up with Josh. D'you remember when you tried to talk to me the weekend after the bomb, how I told you it could wait?" Beckett asks.

"I remember," he replies in a tight voice, though the tension is his hand confirmed his memory before he spoke.

"I did that to everyone that weekend," she says, rubbing his hand in an effort to soothe any latent resentment. "I shut the world out so I could just think about where I was and where I wanted to be. Who I was with and who I wanted to be with. And then I show up to work and you turned my world upside-down _again_ ," she complains, earning a huff from Castle. "Just when I was figuring out that I had an option, or maybe that I should pursue an option, you stepped away and told me to leave you alone."

"That's not what I said," Castle disagrees quietly, his calm tone of voice providing assurance that he's still engaged even if he sees things differently. "I said that you needed to pursue a single relationship, and you chose Josh."

"No," Beckett answers in an equally calm tone, though inflected with a little humor as she finds it maddeningly funny that they see the same event differently. "You didn't give me an option – you told me to make things work with Josh as you stepped away. I told you at the start of our talk that I didn't react well during that conversation and this is another example – you told me you'd cared but that you were leaving. You asked for time to get over me but it sounded like you already were."

"This is what's really bothering me," Castle offers in reply. "I left because a week earlier you'd told me you wanted things to work with Josh. What was I supposed to do? How else was I supposed to interpret that?"

Beckett pauses, taking the time to look at him, to reconnect with her eyes. They're finally here, finally at the root cause of their problems, and now's the time to make a final confession in the hopes of clearing the way forward.

"You weren't the only one who spent a lot of time thinking about our talk in LA," she offers. If Castle's put off that Beckett's meandering before answering his questions, he holds his tongue knowing that he often does the same thing. "You're also angry about how I treated you when I was with Demming, aren't you?"

"Yes," Castle answers quickly, almost proudly. Until he realizes that pride might've helped create this situation, as Fred had mentioned when he talked about this with her.

"You surprised me in LA," she pushes forward, before Castle interrupts.

"Tell me about it," he murmurs, prompting small smiles for them both.

"That's fair," Beckett acknowledges with a laugh. "But your explanation about Demming changed things. Your words were like a key, Castle – they unlocked a lot of secrets for me, and some embarrassment, too," she confesses with a blush. "All I knew back then was what Demming told me – that you said you didn't want me. That hurt, Rick, more than I wanted to admit. I know this is petty and small, but I wanted to hurt you back, show you that someone found me desirable even if you didn't. It was stupid and juvenile and it wasn't until Espo called me on it that I realized I was with him mostly to lash out at you. I'm sorry about that, Rick. You deserved better."

Though he's finding a strange kind of peace in her explanation, there's one element Castle can't quite accept. "Espo?!"

"Yeah," Beckett chuckles uncomfortably. "He kinda pulled me aside and asked me what the hell I was doing. It was a bit of a wake-up call, helped me make some decisions…"

"That I blew up by pouting and reconnecting with Gina," Castle interrupts. "Nice move, jackass," he says while fisting his free hand and rapping on his temple.

"I didn't know that Demming was lying… well, playing loose with the truth," she corrects while recalling Castle's description, "until LA. So, before then, especially when things with you and Gina didn't work out, I might've acted the same way again to feel better about being the one who got left behind. And when I felt like I was slipping, like I was more attracted to you than to Josh, I'd play up things with Josh to get you back, to remind myself to keep my heart safe."

Confession is supposed to be good for the soul, and Beckett's seen many people claim to feel lighter after signing their confessions. But she doesn't feel lighter, she feels… nervous. Nervous and anxious. And nauseous. Because this is it – everything's out there now, and if they can't get comfortable with what's passed between them before now, there's little hope of moving forward together. From Castle's pensive look, she'd guess that he realizes the import of this moment, too.

"I'm hoping we can move forward together, Rick," Beckett says quietly, grasping his hand. "We've made some mistakes but I'm hoping we can put those behind us. I'm sorry about how things have gone, how I've hurt you. Can you forgive me?"

Bringing his free hand to their clasp so that they're both holding on with both hands, Castle looks down and studies where they're connected before raising his eyes to meet her gaze.

"No," he says quietly, holding tight when she tries to pull away. "I'm sorry, Kate, but you're here with a writer and I'm going to have to challenge your word choice," he says with that infuriating smile that begs to be kissed or slapped off his face. "I'm not sure this is about forgiveness. I _understand_ you. It's something I didn't expect but something I think is much stronger. Maybe even strong enough to build on," he says, loosening his grip on her hands so she can feel the gentle squeeze he offers.

"I _understand_ why criminals do what they do, Castle," Beckett ripostes in a tone of exasperation, "It doesn't mean I want to start dating them."

Laughing, Castle gives her a beautiful smile while clasping her hands again. "Such a stickler for diction," he says with a roll of his eyes, laughing again at her look of indignation after his own little aside about word choice. "But a fair point. I guess what I mean is that I could see myself doing the same thing in your position. Flip the Demming situation," he suggests. "If I thought we were building toward being together and then I heard something that made me think you didn't care, I don't think I'd react very well," he posits with a sour face, not even liking this situation as a hypothetical. "So, by 'understanding' I guess I mean something deeper. Acceptance?"

"I'm not sure about that," Beckett answers, smiling but shaking her head. "You've _accepted_ too much in your life, I think. You deserve more than just taking your lot."

"You know, only we could spar about how to characterize this feeling," Castle laughs. "Got a thesaurus handy?"

"I've pushed an author to the point of requesting a thesaurus?" Beckett asks in faux shock. "That can't bode well."

"I'll have you know that not only am I a best-selling author, but I'm the all-time Scrabble champion of the loft, too," he crows. "I hear you knocking my suggestions, Beckett," he challenges with a grin, "but I don't hear you offering any alternatives."

"Then I've got to question your memory as well as your vocabulary," she returns his serve, laughing at his look of mortal indignation. "I already told you my word in LA. It's a word I haven't used in a long, long time," she confesses, enjoying the sight of Castle's widening eyes. "But you didn't seem to want to hear it. Maybe something else?" she asks, holding her breath again.

"I wanted too badly to hear it," he confesses in a low, emphatic tone. "It surprised me. You surprised me. I'm sorry I didn't react well," he confesses. "It's been a very difficult couple of months, Kate," Castle confides as he raises her hands to his lips, "so I need to make sure I'm picking the right word. But I think you might be right," he finishes as he bestows a gentle kiss on each hand before pulling them over his heart.

Beckett tucks herself into his chest, holding tight to his hands and marveling at finding herself here. This morning, she was ditching work and driving like a bat out of hell to barge into his home in a blind panic and now she's tucked into him and feeling a peace she hasn't known for far more than a few months.

Then, like a buzzing fly, one thought starts to hover and distract her. Try as she might, she can't make it go away and can't ignore it. So, finally, with a huff and a stifled curse, she pushes herself away from Castle's chest so she can see his face.

"Love," she says clearly. "I was talking about love, Castle. I love you. You know that, right?"

"I heard you Beckett," he says with a sweet, dopey smile. "I might not _know_ that yet, but I'm hoping I'll hear it enough to start believing it. And I'm hoping that I can get over myself soon so we can…"

Beckett muffles the rest of his comment with a finger to his lips. "I'm not clarifying to put you in a corner, Rick," she says as she pulls her finger away. "I just thought we might benefit from a little direct communication."

"Are we trying something new?" he asks with a quirked mouth, enjoying the humor of the situation but treading lightly.

"Yeah," Beckett agrees with a nod. "Toeing the line so your sister doesn't kick my ass is definitely new," she grouses, pulling a rich laugh out of Castle.

Castle agrees readily with a smile. "She's tougher than she looks. But she's just watching out for me," he offers affectionately.

"She's probably about to come looking for you now," Beckett replies, checking the time and cringing. "And she'd be right – we've been out here a long time, Rick. I need to grab Alexis and get back to the City," she says, tugging on his hand to get him moving again.

"I suppose you're right," Castle allows, falling into step beside her. "I need you to get back to work," he says, waiting for her raised brow to explain. "That way when I say…," he trails off as he stops and spins her to face him, "… 'Kate Beckett, will you please join me at the beach house,' sufficient leave time won't be a factor in your decision."

"We're going to try it again?" Beckett says with a delighted laugh. "Even after all the pain and confusion before now?"

"There's got to be a payoff for all that suffering, right?" Castle asks, laughing himself.

"I accept," Beckett says happily, unable to stop herself from wrapping Castle in a quick hug. Well, what was meant to be a quick hug until he holds on. "But we can't stay too long," Beckett says from the depth of his embrace. "You've got a college tour to attend and I need to save some vacation days for the winter."

"You taking me skiing, Beckett?" he rumbles in her ear. "Trying to get me all warm and toasty on a rug in front of the fireplace in a private, snow-bound chalet?"

The scene he paints is almost enough to distract her as her mind starts to skip down the lane of mountain-based fantasies, but she pulls herself back. One more bit of clearing to attend to before she starts the drive home. "That sounds wonderful, though I had something else in mind," she whispers into his neck, delighting in the little shudder her words provoke. "A dear friend set me up with a vacation to Florida and I was hoping I could talk him into accompanying me. Interested in vaporizing some old ghosts in the warm Florida sun?"

* * *

"I don't envy the hotel bartender," Alexis says as she waves in farewell to another group of wedding guests that weaved and stumbled onto the executive van service vehicle.

"Or anyone who has a fire tomorrow night," Fred agrees, shaking her head. "But speaking of departures, shouldn't you be on your way to the City? It's not like your dad's service to be late."

"I'm riding with Kate," Alexis explains while looking at her watch, "but, yeah, we really should be going. Time to see what they're up to?"

"Probably," Fred agrees, wondering about Castle's absence. "You want to check the house and I'll check out back?"

"Absolutely not," Alexis answers with a shudder. "If they're in the house, I'm not sure I want to find them."

"Fine," Fred answers, rolling her eyes. She very much doubts that Mr. No Timeline would jump into bed that quickly, but he is a man, so who knows? Still, probably better to stick together. "Let's protect your sensibilities and maybe your illusions by checking out back, first?"

"Thank you," Alexis answers with a laugh, leading Fred around the house to the pool deck. With many guests departed, it's easy to scan those who remain. While Alexis circles the pool, Fred heads toward the path to the beach.

"Go get Ben," she says a few moments later as she hears Alexis approach behind her. "We need that antique firetruck again."

"What?!" Alexis asks in alarm. "There's a fire?"

"No," Fred answers, stepping to the side to afford Alexis a clear view of Castle and Beckett enjoying a long kiss on the sand. "If you have any hopes of getting to the City tonight I think we're going to need a firehose to separate those two."

* * *

A/N: Greetings from Kake (by the ocean)! Taking advantage of a rogue wi-fi signal to post another chapter (got to keep that weekly feed going). It turns out that breaking Week Twelve into more than one chapter set a bad precedent, though, as we're _still_ not done with it. The next chapter will get us there, though.

I've tried to reply to all reviews with the limited connectivity here, but my apologies if I missed anyone. If so, I'll get caught up on replies and reviews when I get home.


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional.

Also, you'll recognize some dialog in this chapter again. As was the case in chapter ten, some has been borrowed directly while some had to be bent a bit to fit the shape of this story.

* * *

 **Week Twelve (part three)**

Alexis is a natural interrogator.

That's what Beckett's thinking as they drive away from Castle's beach house. She's still not sure who produced the schoolmarmish throat clearing noise that finally alerted Castle and her to their audience and she's too embarrassed to ask. Alexis hasn't provided any insights either, instead preferring to give Beckett an insufferably knowing look every time they've made eye contact, occasionally accented with an eyebrow waggle.

But the look is the weaker part of her arsenal. As Beckett herself knows and uses to good effect with her suspects, silence is key. And Alexis wields silence like a stiletto, letting it slip between the cracks of the defenses Beckett's trying to build.

They've been on the road for only ten minutes and Beckett's already wondering if she's going to make it back to the city.

" _So_ ," Alexis says in a normal volume, though it sounds deafening after so much silence. The sudden noise startles Beckett, causing their car to swerve in its lane and Beckett to flush in an even greater degree of self-consciousness. Looking amused by her discomfiture, Alexis turns in her seat to face Beckett, who has to keep her focus on the road. "I take it you had a good talk with Dad, then?"

" _Alexis_ …"

"Or did you just skip the whole talking part?" the teen asks with an admirably straight face.

Beckett's trying desperately to remember the last time she was so embarrassed. She can feel the heat radiating from her face as she blushes deep red. And forget her cheeks, this flush merely starts there before coloring her ears, nose, and throat, too. Hey, maybe that's how the otorhinolaryngology specialty got started – abject humiliation. She certainly feels like she needs to see a doctor.

"Remember when we talked about my college applications?" Alexis asks musingly, idly twirling her hair as she watches Beckett nod warily. "What did you say back then – 'it might not feel like it, but your blush looks lovely?'" she asks, laughing gaily when Beckett takes a moment to knock her forehead on the top of the steering wheel. "You were right – you do look lovely. Perhaps we should turn around and show Dad?"

"You're horrible," Beckett complains, then laughs as she blushes an even deeper shade. "I think we'd better keep the car pointed in its current direction, thanks."

"Probably for the best," Alexis nods sagely, still keeping a straight face, but struggling. "We could just take a picture instead?" she asks while pulling out her cellphone.

"Don't you dare," Beckett laughs while she starts to wonder if she'd been working beside the better-behaved Castle.

"Yeah, you're right," Alexis replies, playing with her phone. "As lovely as that picture would be, it still wouldn't compare to the shot from the beach."

This comment prompts another swerve of the car as Beckett's head whips around. "You _didn't_ ," she whispers.

Finally losing all composure, Alexis releases a full chiming laugh. Beckett laughs along, enjoying the opportunity to release the stress and nervousness that's built up since her alone time with Castle. Minutes later, they're both wiping tears from their eyes and chuckling intermittently, finally coming down and settling into a calmer, companionable mood.

"Thanks," Beckett says, still smiling. "For a good laugh, but also for being okay with me and your dad. I'm sorry you had to see that, especially if it embarrassed you, but I'm glad you were teasing about the picture."

"I'm happy if Dad's happy," Alexis answers easily, "and he looked pretty happy back on the beach!" she teases, getting an eye roll from Beckett. "You know I've been rooting for the two of you, so I wasn't too embarrassed," she says, though the flush in her cheeks suggests she might've been a bit more uncomfortable than she suggests. "And I wasn't teasing about the picture," she says as she holds up her phone, displaying the shot of Beckett and Castle together on the beach.

Beckett makes a quick grab for the phone, but Alexis happily holds it out of reach. "If you're so interested, I'll text the picture to you." Alexis types for a few moments, then looks a little worried before tapping 'send' with finality, a small smile playing around the edges of her face. "There," she says, pointing to Beckett's phone on the dash. "You'll hear about that in ten, nine, eight…"

"Hear?" Beckett asks in confusion, thinking the countdown drama is a bit much until her phone starts ringing after Alexis reaches the count of 'four.' With brow furrowed, she hits the speaker button. "Beckett," she answers, sounding a little less assertive than usual.

" _I'm surprised you can talk,_ " Beckett hears her friend Lanie say. " _It looks like your mouth got quite a workout, girl!_ "

"What… how… _Alexis_!" Beckett stutters, now hearing laughter from both her passenger and her phone.

"Sorry, Kate," Alexis replies, sounding a little worried about having overstepped. "But Lanie and I might've made a deal earlier today. I owed her from the carwash outing, and she drives a hard bargain. But she promised she wouldn't pass any pictures along."

" _You know me better than that, Kate_ ," Lanie assures. " _After all the babying I've done over the past few months, I earned some proof that you finally talked to Castle about this instead of me. You did talk, didn't you, or did you two just…?_ "

"Did you two rehearse this?" Beckett asks in frustration, still embarrassed about having been completely outmaneuvered by her friend and Castle's daughter.

" _We don't have to rehearse to be happy for you, Kate_ ," Lanie says earnestly, the turn from teasing to true helping to soothe Beckett's frayed nerves. " _And we are happy, right, Alexis_?"

"Right," Alexis answers immediately but shyly, apparently worried that she's gone too far. Touched by her effort, Beckett reaches out and clasps hand with the young woman briefly before returning both hands to the steering wheel.

" _Lunch tomorrow, Kate_?" Lanie asks. She's trying to sound considerate, but Beckett knows what's going on – Lanie's scheduling a time to talk without Alexis around to constrain the discussion. Better to capitulate now before Lanie's curiosity builds to a point where it erupts in public. And, better pick a place for lunch where they won't be overheard. "Maybe Thursday?" she proposes, wanting to save talking to Lanie until after her outing with Castle. "I'll text you."

" _There's a lesson for you_ , _Alexis_ ," Lanie complains. " _As soon as your friend starts dating someone_ , _bam_! _Second-class citizen_ ," she complains. " _Fine_ , _Kate_ , _just call me when you're ready to use that mouth for talking or eating_. _Food_ ," she clarifies with a cackle, imagining (accurately) that her last shot has both ladies in the car blushing.

"Maybe I won't text you," Beckett revises.

" _Have a nice drive, ladies_ ," Lanie says while laughing at Beckett's idle threat before she rings off. The sudden silence affords Beckett and Alexis the chance to relax and let their embarrassment wane.

"Don't worry, Kate," Alexis offers kindly in an effort to further ease them both. "The picture _is_ beautiful, but it's nothing to worry about. The lighting was low, so really it's the two of you in silhouette. Only people who already know it's you and Dad will be able to recognize your outlines."

"It sounds perfect," Beckett replies happily. "Will you please send it to me?"

"Already did," Alexis answers, again sounding a little shy. "I sent it to you and Lanie at the same time." Recognizing the look on Beckett's face, she offers one more comment. "I haven't sent it to anyone else. Not even Dad – I thought you might want to do that."

"Thank you," Beckett whispers, again impressed by Alexis' thoughtfulness, which she decides more than compensates for the uncomfortable teasing. "I'll do that," she promises, thinking of sending the picture to Castle. And maybe one other person…

* * *

"You okay?" Fred asks as she helps Castle straighten the kitchen. He's been quiet since Alexis and Beckett left, but Fred thinks it's more of the 'floating-on-a-cloud' than 'what the hell am I doing' kind of quiet.

"I'm okay," Castle confirms. "Better than okay, I think," he amends as a small grin appears on his face.

"You wanna talk about it?" she asks, watching him carefully but missing any signs of distress.

"Not sure there's much to talk about," Castle replies as he steps to the sink to rinse out a sponge before moving back to the counter. "That went better than I hoped."

" _Obviously_ ," Fred says, hip-checking him on her way to the kitchen table.

Castle huffs a laugh as he scrubs at the counter, though Fred thinks it's unlikely he's doing any cleaning, mostly just biding time. "She did to me the same thing you did," he offers, still looking down.

"I'm _certain_ I didn't do what I saw down on the beach," Fred replies with an arched brow and a playful tone. "I definitely would've remembered that!"

Giving up on the counter, Castle chuckles and turns back to the cabinet and pulls out two wine glasses before grabbing a chilled white on the way back to join Fred at the table. At her nod, he pours her a glass and then serves himself, taking a sip before returning to the topic.

"Thank you," he says earnestly, reaching out to cover the hand Fred's not using to sip her drink. "What I meant was that Kate surprised me a bit – she had a different perspective on some of the things that've caused us trouble. If you hadn't surprised me with your take on things in LA, I'm not sure I would've reacted as well as I did."

"Glad I could help," she replies honestly, giving his hand a squeeze. "So, she addressed all your concerns?"

"No," Castle admits, though his smile seems at odds with his answer. "We hit the high points. To be honest, I'm not sure we need to circle back, at least not right away." Noticing Fred's alarmed look, he laughs and pats her hand. "Don't worry, I'm not hiding from a direct conversation or ignoring our past. I just…," he trails off, trying to find a way to describe what he's feeling. Finally, his head snaps up as finds the words. "I have faith in us."

Looking a little confused, Fred cocks her head while setting the wine aside. "What do you mean?"

"Kate came here with no idea what she'd find," Castle reminds them both. "She didn't run when you intercepted her or threaten to hurt you, even though she probably thought about both," he says with a laugh, which grows louder as he sees Fred's hesitant nod. "She endured a lot of open speculation regarding her place here, and she took the initiative to prompt our conversation," he says with a dramatic pause, "even under the threat of vigilant eyes," he says while pointing to both of his eyes before rotating his hand to point at a blushing Fred, who didn't think he'd noticed her parting warning to Beckett.

Noticing her embarrassment, Castle gives her hand another squeeze to let her know that he appreciates her concern.

"But our talk – that was the most important thing," he continues. "It was painful and direct. It touched on several of our worst moments. And even if I didn't always like what I heard, I realized something important – she was trying. I understand why she did some of the things she did, and I can understand how I contributed to some of our issues. But even if there aren't perfect answers for the past, I'm convinced her interest in our future is genuine. That's what gives me faith."

"I'm not sure I'm convinced," Fred says guardedly, playing with his hand and thinking for a few moments. "But," she allows with a grimace, "I'm here for you, little brother," she says with another squeeze. "If this's what you want, then you've got my support. Just let me know how I can help," she offers, looking suddenly sad. "Even if it means dropping out for a while."

"Hey, no," Castle says, catching on a little too late to the undertone of the conversation. "I've made a lot of mistakes in the past, including ignoring my friends when I've started relationships. I know better now," he promises her, using both of his hands to hold hers. "You've become too important for me to let you drift away." Noticing that Fred's looking embarrassed and a little teary, Castle reaches for a little humor. "Besides, you're my sister, right? Can't turn your back on family."

"You're a good man, little brother," she says as she stands and pulls him into a hug. "She'd better appreciate what she gets in you."

"Gotta be good to mitigate some of my other personality traits," he laughs, the emotion of the moment making him a little more introspective and candid than usual. "Now, come on," he says as he tugs with one hand and reaches for the wine bottle with the other. "Let's leave this for the cleaners. We can go sit in the den and you can tell me everything you're looking for. I might be taken care of, but we still need to see about finding your heart's desire."

* * *

Beckett feels so contented after a long hug with Alexis at the door to the loft that she turns and wraps up a surprised Martha, too.

"That must've been quite a wedding," Martha says with raised brows as Beckett releases her.

"It was amazing," Beckett agrees with a nod, trading winks with Alexis. "I'll let Rick tell you about it. Sorry we're late," Beckett apologizes. "Traffic," she explains with a shrug, noticing Alexis stifling a laugh behind her grandmother's back.

"Nonsense, my dear," Martha replies happily. "Thank you for caring for Alexis. Any excuse," she adds with a raised brow, "is welcome if it means we get to see you. Perhaps we'll be seeing more of you?" she asks leadingly.

"Perhaps," Beckett replies with a radiant smile. "But for now, I need to get to bed and I suspect Alexis does, too. Goodnight, ladies," Beckett says as she steps back to the loft's door.

"Goodnight, Katherine," Martha replies warmly, waiting until Beckett's entering the elevator before closing the door and welcoming her granddaughter home.

As soon as the elevator door closes, Beckett whips out her cellphone, anxious to see if there's a reply to the text she sent (with beach photo included) during their pit stop at a gas station just outside of the city. Smiling in anticipation, she sees the red circle that indicates unread messages.

 **You *so* owe me, Becks.**

Short and sweet, just like most of Maddie's texts, Beckett thinks as she leaves the elevator and gives a happy wave to the security desk. Still riding her high from the day, she decides to tempt fate and see if her friend has any suggestions for repayment. The reply arrives before she's even made it back to her cruiser.

 **Your writer helped me prove my hosting credentials. So, when you two need a venue, I expect a call. Don't forget, we do cakes, too!**

* * *

"Hey guys," Beckett says in a low tone, careful to not be overheard in the general tumult of the bullpen, "cover for me. I'm cutting out for a bit."

"You're not going to see Lockwood again, are you?" Ryan asks, wondering about the schedule of her weekly trips.

Just as she's wondering if she can pass off her Remy's outing this way, Esposito crashes the party. "Nah, she's got a different kind of meeting in mind," he says shrewdly while watching Beckett. "You callin' this a recruiting trip?" he says slyly to Beckett. "Or you just trying to build relations with the FDNY?"

"Wait a minute," Ryan interjects. "You're meeting up with _Castle_?!"

"Shhhh!" Beckett reacts crossly, leveling a wicked glare to ensure that no one else picks up on their discussion. "I'll be back by 11:00. It's an early lunch if Montgomery asks," she says while grabbing her purse, refusing to answer Ryan's question.

Oddly, the boys let her go without more questions. Their uncharacteristic restraint reminds her that she's meant to press them about Castle. They've surprised her a bit with their questions about him lately and it makes her wonder what they're up to, especially as she thinks about the possibilities for after Castle concludes his FDNY obligation next week.

That's what's really bothering her, she realizes as she sneaks toward the back stairs, anxious to make her escape. They've talked since the wedding, and texted, but they've both been careful to avoid touchy subjects. Maybe at Remy's they'll be able to discuss what's next for Castle and whether he'll consider returning to the precinct.

Her foot's on the second stair when she hears Montgomery call her name. Dammit! They're cursed. Absolutely cursed, she thinks, as she feels her hopes for Remy's go up in smoke. Again. She just knows he's about to hand her a new case or send her off on another errand for the DA's office. Turning, she's surprised to see that he's approaching her rather than awaiting her arrival in his office. Behind him, she can see apologetic shrugs from the boys.

"We need to talk," Montgomery says grimly as he approaches.

"I was just going to meet Castle for coffee," she admits brazenly, though she downplays the significance of the meeting or how long she'd hoped to spend at Remy's. "He just got off shift and I'm working to make sure he leaves the FDNY behind after next week." When in doubt, she thinks, play up the rivalry.

"As much as I'd like to see him back here," Montgomery says, "that's not important right now. We need to talk," he repeats gravely, "but not here."

Alarm bells ringing, Beckett's curses her luck. Why is it that Montgomery's _finally_ interested in confiding in her when things are in such a tenuous place with Castle? But thinking of him makes her realize that she doesn't need to choose. "I want him to be a part of this," she declares to Montgomery's obvious but impressed surprise. "We can talk at his place. The bar, not the loft."

Montgomery thinks about this for a few moments before giving a quick nod. "You go ahead," he says. "Probably best to move separately. I'll be fifteen minutes behind," he says before pausing and looking at her intensely. "But I want your word, Beckett, that you'll be there. You'll be there and we'll talk."

"Of course," Beckett replies, though now she's really rattled. Why _wouldn't_ she be there? This whole surreptitious event is about confiding in her. Isn't it?

Still troubled, she dials Castle's number on the way down the stairs. She's uncomfortably reminded of the last time she exited this way, when Castle was calling her to postpone their date. Now she needs to do the same thing again. But he's going to be there, so perhaps it's not all bad.

"Hey, Castle," she says shyly when he picks up.

" _Hi, Kate_ ," he replies, sounding just as shy. " _Are you there already_? _I'm running a little late – busy night, took me a while to get cleaned up_."

"Montgomery caught me trying to sneak out," she confesses. "And now he wants to talk. Can we postpone Remy's and meet with him at the Haunt instead?"

" _He wants to talk about us_?!" Castle asks, alarmed.

"Castle…"

" _We just had our first non-case-related kiss two days ago_! _We haven't even had our first date and he wants to talk_?" he frets.

"Castle…"

" _Guess I can kiss the precinct goodbye_ ," he laments, and Beckett's so happy to hear that he's thinking about returning that she's not upset about being unable to disrupt his flow.

"Castle…"

" _And what a terrible omen_! _If he's upset I can just imagine what your father's gonna say_ …"

"Castle!" Beckett finally manages to interrupt. " _Relax_ ," she says with a chuckle. "He wants to talk about what we discussed in LA."

" _He knows about our talk in LA_?!" Castle squeaks. " _He's omnipotent_!"

"Not _that_ talk," Beckett answers quickly with some embarrassment. "About what was on TV – you know, after the earthquake," she says with a smile as she recalls Castle's protective measures.

" _Oh. Right_ ," Castle replies as Beckett wonders if it's possible to hear a blush. " _Yeah, sure, we can meet at the Haunt. It's not open yet, obviously, but I've got keys. If you're still at the precinct, I should get there before you_."

"Okay, I'll see you there," Beckett replies as she unlocks her cruiser. "After we're done with Montgomery, we can talk about Remy's, okay? We'll figure out a time that works. And Castle?" she says as she hears his sounds of agreement. "Here's something I was saving for our talk there, just to whet your appetite. You know, give you something to think about."

" _Based on your tone of voice, this sounds like something I'm gonna like_."

"I hope so, but I guess that's something we'll need to talk about," she answers coyly. "But here you go: I asked Montgomery if you could come back to the precinct if you and I were seeing each other. Last week, _before_ the wedding," she clarifies, feeling like it's important he knows she braved her boss' wrath back before their talk in the Hamptons.

" _You did_?!" Castle marvels. " _What'd he say_?"

"No, no, no," Beckett teases, breaking into a beaming smile even though Castle will figure it out on his own. "One more reason to make sure our Remy's date finally happens. See you at the Haunt!"

* * *

Nervous anew, Beckett wonders what prompted Montgomery to deviate from the plan since he arrived at the Haunt just minutes behind her. She would've appreciated a little private time with Castle, and now she's worried about the urgency he's attaching to this meeting.

"You can use my office," Castle offers, picking up on the tension. "It's a little early, but it's well-stocked if a good, stiff drink will help."

"You're coming with," Beckett says resolutely, reaching out to grab his hand. "I need you there," she says in a low voice, her words surprising him more than the physical contact in front of her captain.

"Well, this is different," Montgomery notes as he walks by, then stops to offer a brief smile. "Office's this way, right?"

"Follow us," Castle offers, pulling Beckett along and leading her to the stairs.

Moments later, they're ensconced in Castle's office, recently refurbished with comfortable leather furniture, a top-of-the-line sound system, and an impressive security system. As he sets the locks and types a code into the keypad, he turns to see both Montgomery and Beckett looking at him in astonishment.

"Rough neighborhood?" he justifies hopefully. When neither of them seems to accept his initial explanation, he shrugs and tries again. "This is where I've spent my downtime."

Beckett realizes immediately what he's saying. This was his retreat, his refuge during the confusion of the last several months. And when she needed a place to talk, he invited her in without hesitation. Despite the dire overtones of this meeting, she stands and approaches, silently reaching up and pulling him in for a quick but meaningful kiss. Then, after taking one last moment to touch foreheads, she returns to her seat, patting the spot next to her.

Castle joins her, leaving Montgomery to pull the desk chair around so that he can face them from the other side of a low, mahogany coffee table.

"I want a promise from you before we get started," Montgomery says sternly, focusing on Beckett. "You listen to _everything_ , then we figure out what to do. _Everything_ ," he repeats.

Looking increasingly concerned, Beckett pauses for several long moments before nodding hesitantly.

"Good," Montgomery nods before turning to face Castle. "And I want _you_ ," he says, just as sternly, "to keep the promise you made to me two months ago."

Like Beckett, Castle takes several moments to think about Montgomery's words. Unlike Beckett, however, he shakes his head.

"I promised," Castle recalls, "that I'd protect her," he recalls, ignoring the shocked swivel of Beckett's head. "And I will. But that means backing her play. Where she goes, I go."

Montgomery meets his eyes, and the two men stare at each other until Montgomery looks down. Reaching into his coat, he pulls something from his pocket. Photos, it appears, as he sets them on the table face-down.

"We're here to talk about two people," he says somberly to start as he flips one of the photos to reveal a portrait of an attractive, young black woman. "Janelle Jackson," he says, before looking at Beckett. "Recognize her?"

Surprised by the direct request, Beckett picks up the photo and wracks her brain before huffing, shaking her head, and placing the photo down again.

"You were still a uniform when you canvassed on her brother's homicide case. Gang hit," Montgomery supplies, as Beckett's ashamed to admit this triggers no recollection. "It was her second lost brother. When you worked the case," he says with a nod to Beckett, "she still had one left. He died ten months later, same way."

Montgomery pauses, letting his eyes roam as he collects himself. Castle nods towards the liquor cabinet, but the captain waves him off.

"We're not supposed to get involved, not supposed to get attached," he says in a low voice. "But sometimes you just can't help it. A little older, she could've been my sister. A little younger, my daughter. So, I got involved. We helped her, Evelyn and I. Made sure she didn't fall the way her brothers did. Got her into a school program, helped her get her first job. That would've been right after you made detective," he says with a nod to Beckett.

This time, when his glance lands on the cabinet, Castle doesn't ask. He's back with a bottle and three glasses in a blink, pouring one for each of them, though only Montgomery partakes.

"She was doing so well," he recalls, eyes looking inward. "Promotions. A new job. Her own apartment. Then, suddenly, she was gone. No more calls, no texts. By the time I reached out, she'd left her job. They found her body two weeks later. She fell hard – drugs, booze, God Himself only knows what else. And while I had my suspicions, I never knew why," he trails off, leaving Beckett with the uncanny impression that her boss knows far more about unresolved loss than she thought.

Montgomery surprises them then, looking up suddenly with a fierce expression. "Until you left," he says to Castle. "Until the mayor sent you away because the DA was going to challenge him. Then, people started digging. Then, word of his treatment of his employees – including a beautiful, damaged, young legal secretary – came to light. And there was my confirmation. Everything she fought for, everything she overcame, all of it _gone_ ," he says as his hand slaps the table, startling Castle and Beckett, "because that irredeemable bastard abused her. He died that day," Montgomery says as if making a vow, "even if he didn't know it. His life was forfeit. He was going to give his life for taking Nelly's."

Lurching from his seat, Montgomery grabs his drink and begins to pace. "I never bought your bullshit, Rick," he says with a harsh laugh. "Karma, serendipity – how many times did you try to convince me over drinks and a few hands of cards? Well, it turns out you were right. Turner made himself expendable just when I needed a tool. A weapon." He stops pacing, looking contemplative, then offers one more option. "A means of salvation."

Then, slowly, Montgomery lifts a hand and points to the remaining picture on the table. Suddenly feeling sick, Castle turns to watch Beckett reach out hesitantly, hand pausing atop the picture. Castle reaches out, too, not for the picture, but to clasp her free hand. Emboldened, Beckett flips the picture and stifles a gasp as she finds herself looking at her mother's portrait.

"Remember when we talked, Beckett, about Turner running for office despite his sins?" Montgomery ruminates. "About the ego of people who do terrible things but try to ignore them?"

With their eyes riveted on him, Montgomery slowly walks back to the chair and lowers himself into his seat.

"Hal Lockwood died this morning," he offers in what seems like a shocking non-sequitur. "He'd just shanked Gary McAllister, but he died the same way moments later."

Shock, anger, and bitter frustration course through Beckett as she drops Castle's hand and takes Montgomery's place pacing around the office.

"How?!" she yells. "He was in Ad Seg for a reason! How'd he get out? How'd he die?!" she demands.

"It's too soon to know," Montgomery answers. "That's the official answer. But the real answer?" he pauses, looking first at Beckett and then at Castle. "The real answer is that the man who killed your mother is cleaning up, getting ready for his next big step."

"You know?" Beckett moans after freezing in place. "Who?" she demands. "Who's responsible for my mother's death?"

"Who's responsible?" Montgomery repeats the question. With a gesture to the sofa, Montgomery indicates his willingness to keep talking after Beckett reclaims her seat.

As she reluctantly perches on the edge of her seat and clasps Castle's hand in a death-grip, Beckett leans forward in anticipation of the answer to the question that's haunted her since she was nineteen.

"I am," Montgomery confesses in a low, clear voice. "I'm responsible for her death," he repeats as a keening moan leaks out of Beckett. "I'm the only one left," he continues in a haunted voice. "Just me and the man who killed her."

As a latecomer to this scene that's been more than a decade in the making, Castle's in a unique position to intercede. Montgomery looks vacant, lost inside the terrible memories in his head. Beckett looks almost catatonic, sitting in shock as she tries to reconcile the discordant ideas that the mentor who sheltered and taught her is also the one responsible for all her pain. "Perhaps," Castle says loudly to shock them both, after wrapping an arm around Beckett, "it would be best if you explained."

"Joe Pulgatti was an innocent man," Montgomery starts, before releasing a grim laugh. "Forget that. Pulgatti was as dirty and violent a thug as you can imagine," he adjusts, "but he didn't kill Bob Armen. I did," Montgomery confesses, shocking Beckett and Castle anew with another confession. "We were fighting over my weapon when it discharged. We let Pulgatti go down for it," he recalls. "Ironic, since we couldn't nail the bastard for the murders we knew he committed."

"Roy," Castle interjects again. "You're not making much sense. Start at the beginning."

"You're the storyteller," Montgomery answers with a shrug. "You know that's why I let you stay, right?" he asks, seeming to drift off track. "You walked into a hell of a story, Rick. Maybe you can do something with this mess." Montgomery looks down, apparently lost in thought, and Castle curses himself for interrupting the flow of the narrative. He's just about to prompt Montgomery again when the captain starts speaking.

"I was a rookie when it happened, Kate," he offers slowly, before raising his eyes to meet hers. "McCallister and Raglan were like heroes to me – just like Royce was to you," he adds. Suddenly, Beckett understands why he went so easy on her when she returned from LA.

"I believed in what we were doing," Montgomery continues. "We'd pick up those bastards and they'd be back on the street the next day. So, we started holding them ourselves instead of taking them to Holding," he says with a small smirk and a shrug. "A small fine and they were back on the street. That night," he says, drifting back again. "That terrible night… we were just going to snatch Pulgatti that night. Bob Armen wasn't even supposed to be there. Armen reached for my gun. That's when I heard the shot. I didn't even know it was my gun that went off 'til Armen went down," he says quietly, haunted.

"McCallister and Raglan tried to drown it, but not me," he offers, before ironically draining his glass and reaching for a refill. "I put it all into the job, Kate. I became the best cop I could be. And then when you walked into the Twelfth, I felt the hand of God. I knew he was giving me another chance, and I thought I could protect you the way I should have protected her."

"You 'protected' her?" Beckett asks in a tone soaked with confusion and betrayal. "She died! Who killed my mother?"

"I don't know how," Montgomery continues in his lost tone while ignoring Beckett, "but somehow he had figured out what we had done. And he could have turned us all in. Instead, he demanded the ransom money. He took that money to become what he is and God forgive me but that may be my greatest sin."

"Give me a name," Beckett demands. "You owe me that, Roy."

"No, Kate," he replies, seeming to come back to himself. "I give you a name, I know you. You'll run straight at him. I might as well shoot you where you stand. Better that than find you a day later, stabbed and bleeding out in an alley. He's a big one for symmetry," he says and pauses to let that imagery sink in. "No, Kate, I don't owe you a name. I owe you the man."

Beckett looks like she's ramping up for another charge, maybe physical, when Castle interjects. "Roy, it's time to tell us what's going on. Time to share this burden. Then we'll figure out how to bring him in while keeping _everyone_ safe."

" _Safe_ ," Montgomery laughs sadly. "I doubt it. I've already made my play. Within the next week, probably two at the most, one of us will be dead."

"No!" Beckett shouts, launching to her feet again. "I don't want him dead, I want him to _pay_! I want him to lose his future, to watch his family and dreams disintegrate. I want him to realize…," she trails off, swiping at her cheeks. "I want him to realize that he's not enough to hold it all together."

"He might be there already," Montgomery replies, before taking another drink. "Hear me out, Kate," he implores, ignoring the baleful stare from Castle. "It'll be your choice. If that's what you want once you've heard everything, that's how we'll handle it. But you need to understand everything before you make your call."

"So tell me!" she rails. "Stop all this moralizing and rationalizing and just tell me who killed my mother."

"William Bracken," Montgomery answers, freezing Beckett in place. "Then ADA, now US senator."

"What… how…," Beckett trails off, stumbling back to the couch and collapsing next to Castle. "Senator Bracken?" she asks in a bewildered voice. Castle wraps a protective arm around her, but she's already getting over the shock, detective instincts already coming back to the fore. " _This_ is why you pushed me to investigate the DA's office – it wasn't about Turner, it was about Bracken!"

Montgomery shakes his head, disappointed. "Think! What happened to Turner? Run off the road by an operative from a defense contractor with ties to Bracken. Remember Lockwood? He wasn't a two-bit thug, he was a pro. So was Coonan. You don't go at someone like Bracken directly, unless you want to get dead real quick."

"No," Castle suggests in a low voice, "you aim another demon at him, hoping that one will mortally wound the other before dying himself."

"Exactly," Montgomery nods, satisfied that this part of his method is understood. Then, with a heaving sigh, he turns back to Beckett.

"I met with your mother, Kate. I begged her to drop the case, told her what would happen if she went in head-first. I even gave her a tape of Bracken planning to have her killed!" he says in anguish. "But she just wouldn't back down."

"So this is her fault?" Beckett asks in a low, dangerous voice. Suddenly, Castle's arm around her becomes one of constraint rather than comfort.

"Get over yourself and open your damn eyes!" Montgomery yells in reply. With his own wide eyes, Castle can't help but wonder about the captain's moxie. Meeting Beckett's anger with more anger is a pretty risky strategy. With any luck, they won't all be killed in the resulting explosion.

"You know the dangers of drinking too much after what happened to your dad," Montgomery goes on, and Castle just shakes his head, wondering how many of Beckett's triggers the captain's going to pound. "Do you not recognize the same risk from adopting your mother's obsessive behavior? What's been the constant theme in our relationship, right from the very first time I found you reviewing her case with a flashlight in the records room?" he demands, eyes boring into her. " _Restraint_ – working things the right way without getting lost. All this," he says with an expansive sweep of his arm, not coincidentally including Castle, "isn't worth shit if you haven't learned that."

"You keep talking, but all I'm hearing is excuses," Beckett lays into Montgomery, ignoring his advice and reference to their early days. "All I hear is that my mom wouldn't have died if you hadn't broken the law," she rails, "and that bringing down Bracken would've been a hell of a lot easier when he was an ADA than when he's a senator!"

"You think I could've brought him down, even then?" Montgomery asks, avoiding the issue of his own culpability. "The only evidence – and there wasn't much – pointed at us, not him. He was the silent partner. We'd have gone down, probably by his hand. And don't think he was any less lethal then. He might be using mercs now, but he's always had muscle. Think of who an ADA might encounter in the course of his job. Think about the opportunities for a corrupt ADA."

"This all sounds like hypotheticals, like conjec…"

"Think about anyone who _also_ had something to lose because of your mother, say someone down in Washington Heights…" Montgomery suggests as he overrides her.

"Simmons?" Beckett growls, bringing her hands to her face. "Simmons and Bracken?"

"Now you're getting the picture," Montgomery nods sadly. "We provided his seed money, and he invested it well. Bracken's built a corrupt empire. He's nearly untouchable to us."

"Bullshit," Beckett returns immediately. "He's just another criminal. Someone we're supposed to _arrest_ , in case you've forgotten," she spits witheringly.

"So call me selfish," Montgomery fires back. "I want to live. I want my family to live. I want you and your team to live. And I can guarantee one thing – arresting him will prove lethal for someone."

"So what's your solution? Send an inept, abusive DA after him?" Beckett asks incredulously.

"I pushed you to look into the DA's office so that Turner would know we were investigating him," Montgomery explains after taking a deep breath to calm himself. "Remember? I wanted him to reach out to me. When he did, I let him think we were investigating at Bracken's insistence. I wound him up and set him loose."

"That's pretty cold, captain," Castle interjects, looking at Montgomery in a new way.

"No, 'cold' is Nelly's grave," Montgomery answers grimly in return. "My only concern was that the idiot wouldn't make enough noise before Bracken took him out. So, I had to make sure he was primed to go public with anything he found. You saw the press conference, you know what happened."

"But Turner's out of the picture," Beckett pushes. "Who're you gonna send next?"

"No," Castle disagrees before Montgomery answers. "It worked, didn't it? Because someone new is making moves. If Lockwood was Bracken's, then his death means that someone else is in the game."

"My hope back then," Montgomery answers, again ruminating, "was that Bracken would go on to be a moderately successful politician. That way, he'd be gone and stay gone. If his career crumbled, he'd have thrown in with Simmons and tried to leverage me. If his career took off, then he'd eventually need to clean the skeletons out of his closet. I knew time was running out when he started doing well in Washington," he confesses, reaching for another drink.

"You know what's funny?" Montgomery asks rhetorically, getting confused looks as neither Castle nor Beckett find anything about this remotely humorous. "He actually _has_ to run for higher office. I suspect he uses his political campaigns to launder his money. If so, then he's got a kind of reverse-Ponzi scheme going – he's got more and more money to process."

"But not enough," Castle answers, eyes alight with conspiracy theories. "He's been adopted, hasn't he? That'd explain his success as an Independent, his grooming. Someone's playing kingmaker…," Castle ruminates before jolting and looking directly at Montgomery. " _That's_ what you're doing, isn't it?" in a tone of awe. "You crazy, reckless bastard," Castle says, running his free hand through his hair. "You're turning their asset into a liability."

"Not reckless," Montgomery denies. "I've got it all mapped out, though I've had to adjust. Lockwood went sooner than I thought – he was my canary in the coalmine. I didn't expect any moves until after an upcoming story about Bracken's campaign financing."

"A story that draws heavily on an anonymous source, I assume?" Castle asks with a raised brow, shaking his head again. "Good thing Bracken doesn't play cards with us. You've got a terrible poker face. He'd have seen your play coming a mile away."

"Why do you think I sent Turner?" Montgomery replies with a shrug and a hint of a smile. "But you're wrong. Bracken knows what I'm doing now. He's already tried to kill me."

"What?" Beckett rejoins the conversation suddenly. "When?"

"Last week," Montgomery offers with another shrug. "He was rattled, tried to force me to find out what the DA knew. When I told him to get lost, he detonated the burner phone I was using. Had it been next to my head, instead of in the blast box I borrowed from the bomb squad, there'd still be bits of me all over my office."

"Seriously?" Castle asks, more intrigued than afraid. "An exploding phone? Seems kind of far-fetched. Still, I'm gonna tuck that one away in case I bring Storm back. Seems like a good way to end a hostage situation."

"Focus, Castle," Beckett chides. "If Bracken's so fearsome, why are you still alive? He would've known immediately that his attempt failed."

"Of course he knew," Montgomery replies quickly. "But I knew as soon as I answered that call that he'd try to take me out. I thought a sniper was more likely, but he probably figured I was ready for that after Raglan," Montgomery explains, getting a nod from Castle. "So, I compromised myself in the conversation. I told him I recorded it all, including that parts where I incriminated myself."

" _Brilliant_ ," Castle marvels, getting a quick head spin and glare from Beckett. "It's a perfect defensive play – he knows you can't prosecute him with it or you go down, too. But if he takes you out…," Castle trails off, thinking. "You've got copies of the conversation that'll go public if you die, don't you?"

Montgomery answers by reaching into his coat again and withdrawing an envelope that he extends to Beckett. She stares at the envelope for a moment as if worried it's an illusion before slowly reaching out and taking it from her captain.

"That's a copy of everything," Montgomery says quietly. "The recording I just mentioned and anything I've collected on Bracken, including some of the campaign finance stuff you'll see in the _Ledger_ by the end of the week. While it might not meet the standard of 'evidence,' it's enough to end his career. And we might be able to get it admitted as evidence," he says while looking directly at Beckett, "with corroborating testimony."

Beckett knits her brows as she thinks about what Montgomery said, testing her understanding of what she just heard. Recognizing her confusion, Montgomery draws his confession to a close.

"This is the choice I mentioned when we started," the captain says earnestly, staring at Beckett. "How we go from here is up to you. Leave things alone and I think Bracken will be gone soon – his keepers can't use damaged goods and are unlikely to tolerate loose ends. Lockwood's already gone. Bracken's days are numbered."

Beckett doesn't speak as she contemplates this possibility, nearly doesn't move. If not for the thumb that strokes the envelope in her hand, she'd be a statue.

"The alternative," Montgomery offers with a clear voice, "is that you go arrest Bracken. I'll testify. No deals, no conditions – I'll pay my debt to you."

That choice stills Beckett entirely. The three of them sit in silence as Beckett considers her options. And the likely repercussions from her potential choices.

"You'll die, won't you?" she says quietly. "If you testify." Montgomery's about to answer when Beckett interjects again. "And if not you, then Evelyn. Or Mary. Or Rebecca," she speculates, watching Montgomery flinch at the reference to his wife and daughters. "If this goes higher than the Senate, then you wouldn't be safe in WITSEC or anywhere else, would you?" she asks. "And so another young girl would lose a parent to this monster. Or a sibling. Or her life."

"I can do it," Castle interjects, grasping for a solution. "I'm not the government and I've got money – I can set his family up somewhere else, somewhere out of the country. We could…"

" _No_ ," Beckett and Montgomery reply in unison, each sounding fierce.

"I won't jeopardize you or your family, Rick," Montgomery declares. "These are my sins and I'll pay for them."

"Maybe," Beckett replies, catching the attention of the others in the room. "Maybe you will," she repeats, "but not by my hand. We'll play it your way for now," she says quietly, shoulders slumping. "I've dreamed of seeing my mother's killer behind bars. But I can accept your alternative." Castle gives her a squeeze and Montgomery looks confused until she drops the hammer. " _With two conditions_."

Castle gives her another squeeze while Montgomery shifts from confused to wary. "What conditions?" her boss asks.

"First," she declares, resolute, "two weeks. If Bracken's not gone in two weeks, then we meet here to discuss how we'll bring him down."

Looking nervous that two weeks won't be sufficient, Montgomery still nods.

"Second," Beckett replies, "you're gone."

"Kate…," Castle moves to intervene, worried about protecting Montgomery and his family if he severs ties with the Twelfth.

"For now," she clarifies, giving Castle a squeeze. "It's not safe for you to be exposed right now. Castle," she asks while turning to him, "the tunnels out of here still work, right? You think you could arrange something to get the captain out of town, get him and his family hidden for two weeks?"

"Of course," Castle answers immediately, impressed by her pragmatism and anxious to set plans in motion lest she change her mind.

"Well?" she asks, turning to Montgomery.

Looking at her intensely, Montgomery offers a slow nod. It appears that he's going to remain silent until a heartfelt exhalation surprises them all. "Thank you," he whispers, suddenly looking like a man who was strapped to the table before the governor issued a reprieve.

Now it's Beckett who can't speak. Instead, she stands, pulling Castle by the hand as she makes her way to the door to his office. Casting a look at Montgomery, she's frustrated that they're afforded no privacy. Noticing her look, Castle disengages the locks and ushers her just outside the door to the bottom of the stairs. There isn't room on the landing for both of them, though, so Beckett stands on the first step and recognizes the rare advantage of height over him with a fleeting quirk of her lips.

"Can I ask you a favor, Rick?" she whispers as his hands reach out to bracket her hips and her eyes drift closed. "Will you… deal with him?" she asks. "I don't want him hurt, but I just can't… I just need some time to think about all this."

Despite their recent attempts at direct communication, they're both still well-versed in subtext and Castle thinks he recognizes the message here. "Of course," he offers bravely. "I'll take care of it. Just be safe, please."

"What?" Beckett asks, eyes shooting open again. "You're going with him?"

"No," Castle fumbles quickly, "of course not. I just thought you wanted to deal with this on your own," he shrugs, eyes falling as he tries to hide his disappointment that they've not come farther than this.

"I do," Beckett says earnestly, "for as long as it takes you to sort out Montgomery. And then I'd like to think about it alone," she says, lifting her arms to rest on his chest, "with you. Would that be okay? I'll be horrible company, but I'd feel better if you were nearby."

"That'd be okay," he replies, his attempt at understatement foiled by the smile that blossoms across his face. "I'll take care of Roy and then be right over."

"Actually," Beckett says nervously, hands toying with the placket of Castle's shirt, "can I come to the loft?" she asks with a blush. "Despite everything else we were dealing with back then," she prefaces with a huff, "I felt safe when I stayed there. I'd like to feel that again," she confesses, lowering her head to hide behind her hair.

But she can't hide, since she's standing a stair above. Instead, lowering her head moves her forehead toward Castle, who graces it with a kiss of benediction. "I'll make up your room," he promises, ensuring that they're not moving too quickly after their recent troubles. "Wake me, please, when you get there? I'd stay awake if I could but last night was rough," he admits, while Beckett kicks herself for forgetting that Castle's already put in an intense 15-hour shift before this discussion and has another tonight, "but I'll sleep better when I know you're safe."

"Thank you," she says, returning a kiss to his forehead. "I need to go," she says, "and you need to take care of him so you can get some sleep. But, Rick?" she prompts, getting his blue eyes focused directly on her, "I didn't know what Montgomery was doing with Bracken or that he was even working on mom's case," she admits. Castle nods along, since her reactions to Montgomery's confessions were readily apparent.

"If this is it, if I finally get some measure of peace for her, I want you to know something," she says while patting his chest, directly over his heart. "I never thought I could be happy, that I could really love someone, until mom could rest in peace. I know we still have hurts from our past, that you might still resent what happened or how we got here, but Castle – you were something I couldn't wait for any longer. You know, better than anyone, what my mother means to me. So you know what it means that I didn't wait," she whispers as she leans in for a kiss. "When it mattered most, I put you first."

* * *

A/N: There you go – a dollop of intrigue to complement a budding romance. Montgomery's naivete about what would happen when Bracken ran for office always struck me as inconsistent with his personality. For as smart a cop as he appeared to be, he must've known that his past would catch up with him. Yes, he had his file, but that neither worked nor offered any particular protection to his family. So, I've pushed him into a more active role.

The sad thing about this chapter is that it still didn't get as far as I'd like. But no more – three chapters is enough for week twelve. I'll bump the omitted bit into week thirteen.

As you can tell, I'm back from Alaska, though getting back home was a fair bit of the adventure. I managed to get some writing done, but I'm lagging in reading and reviewing, so my apologies to my fanfic friends who deserve more diligence. I'm hoping to slowly dig out and catch up. I might not be quick, but I'll get there!

Finally, for the guest reviewer who asked if this will head into M territory, I'm afraid I'll leave that to your imaginations, which will surpass anything I could write in that regard.


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional. Also, you'll recognize some dialog in this chapter.

A/N: Another split chapter! Lots of issues to address as we approach the end of the quarter. This chapter's a little odd compared to others as it has just two long conversations. If you're looking for intrigue, come back next week. If you're okay with people trying to get comfortable with each other, read on.

* * *

 **Week Thirteen (part one)**

"This place is nice," Lanie says approvingly as she looks around the restaurant. "You must be feeling _really_ guilty."

"Guilty?" Beckett asks as she scoots in, wondering about Lanie's take on their dinner.

"Isn't that why you're out with me tonight instead of Castle?" Lanie asks with a perched brow. "You're gonna tell me what's going on at work, right?"

"Lanie…," Beckett moans, wondering if she lasted even 15 seconds before losing control of this conversation. "Nothing's…," she starts to say before Lanie's look makes it clear that a denial won't work. The boys have been bad enough, wondering aloud about the nature of Montgomery's "family emergency" that drew him away from the precinct and coincided with Beckett's disappearance for a day. Esposito and Ryan aren't dumb – they saw Montgomery intercept Beckett and take off shortly thereafter. But they're treading lightly right now with her because of what's going on with Castle, so the questions have been easily avoided. Lanie, though…

"You gonna tell me, or do I need to start asking more questions?" the ME asks, sounding tough.

Raising an appeasing hand, Beckett adopts a tough tone of her own. "It's dangerous, Lanes," she says. "Very dangerous. Just give me some time, and _please_ don't draw any attention to what's going on at work – there's too much of that already. I'll tell you about it as soon as I can. I promise it'll make sense."

Something in Beckett's tone seems to penetrate Lanie's fierce demeanor. She cocks her head and stares for a few moments before reaching out silently and clasping her friend's hand. Turning it, Lanie uses her finger to trace three letters into Beckett's palm.

"W-O-W?" Beckett says with a teasing tone, though her look is dire as she gives a small nod. It's the closest she can come to confirming Lanie's traced reference to "mom."

Lanie gives Beckett's hand a squeeze before pulling her hand back. With a deep breath, she tries to sound more upbeat. "Yes, wow. You're spending time with me instead of writer boy. That's a definite wow. Unless something happened…"

"Nothing happened," Beckett says while shaking her head. But then she realizes that she doesn't like the sound of that phrase in reference to what's going on with Castle, so she tries to correct herself. "Well, not nothing. Something, not nothing. Something, but not something bad."

"I can tell you're spending time with a writer," Lanie says as with a smirk, "that was practically poetry. So, it would be fair to say that something good happened." Smiling at Beckett's blush, she rubs her hands together in delight.

Blush deepening, Beckett's happy she at least selected a restaurant with a lot of ambient noise to mask this conversation. "Something good happened," she confirms with a whisper.

"Something really good?" Lanie purrs with a twinkle in her eye. "Like another 'walk' on the beach?" she asks, using air quotes to emphasize her sarcasm.

The reminder of her time on the beach with Castle, and the picture Alexis took, warms Beckett's cheeks. Taking a sip of ice water, she tries to get away with just a nod.

"Girl, you owe me details," Lanie demands. "I've heard more about this from Alexis than I have from you!" she complains. "Or is this a guessing game? Okay, we can play it that way. So," she says brazenly, just as their server arrives, "did you sleep with him?"

There's a moment of shocked silence following her question during which their waitress tries to pretend she didn't hear the question and Beckett pretends she's not here. The moment ends quickly, though, as Beckett chokes on her water.

"I'm gonna give you both a little more time," their blushing waitress says as she quickly backs away from the table, careful to stay out of range of Beckett's vigorous efforts to breathe.

After coughing for several minutes, Beckett finally gets herself under control. Once she's cleared her lungs, she fires a cross look at her friend. "Thanks for your discretion," she grumbles.

" _Well_?" Lanie replies brazenly, ignoring Beckett's complaint and awaiting an answer.

Beckett's thinking seriously about ignoring the question and redirecting the conversation, until she remembers a similarly uncomfortable outing with Lanie and the comment that confused her friend then. Deciding it might work again, she grins slightly as she looks across the table and comes clean. "I did sleep with him," she confirms with a nod as she watches her friend break out in a beaming smile. "But not the right way," she finishes with a smirk.

Looking like she's been slapped, Lanie sits back in her seat and fires off a cross look of her own. "Fine. I'm sorry if my question offended your delicate sensibilities. But you're _killing me_ here. What happened?"

Happy with the apology, Beckett leans forward. The truth is, she _wants_ to confide in her friend. It feels so good to have something hopeful to talk about. And while Lanie might've pushed a little too hard, she has been a great source of comfort and the single biggest help to Beckett as she sorted everything out.

"I stayed with him for a few days," she starts slowly, blushing again. "What's going on right now is terrifying, and for the first time I can remember," she says, looking up at Lanie proudly, "I asked for what I wanted. I told Castle that I felt safe at his place and he invited me to stay."

"And the sleeping…?" Lanie leads, anxious to get to the heart of the story.

"He was working nights again," Beckett continues her story. "He wanted me to wake him up when I got in so that he'd know I was safe, but…," Beckett trails off, shrugging and looking embarrassed again. "I crept into his bedroom and he just… he looked like home," she explains with a bashful shrug. "So, instead of waking him up, I crawled in with him."

"Dammit, girl," Lanie huffs as she delivers a light swat to Beckett's shoulder, using the other hand to dab at her eyes with her handkerchief, "you're supposed to save the sweet stuff for dessert," she complains as she tries to get herself composed. "For the record, I don't think that was the 'wrong' way."

"No, I said that to tease you," Beckett confesses with a small grin. "It was perfect."

As Lanie smiles and nods while continuing to wipe her eyes, Beckett waves to their waitress to let her know it's safe to approach. With embarrassed smiles all around, the ladies place their orders and pass their menus to the server who'll be the grateful recipient of a well-earned and generous tip.

"How was the loft?" Lanie asks a few minutes later after their drinks arrive.

"Wonderful," Beckett admits, then amends her answer when she sees her friend's playful look. "And not just for the naps. It was a good time for us – we just spent some time getting comfortable with each other."

"Just the two of you?" Lanie asks leadingly, as if expecting to hear about the challenges of visiting a busy household.

Instead, Beckett smiles. "Alexis and Martha were around, too. I enjoyed their company. They were careful to give us some private time, too. In fact…," she adds with a blush, pausing until Lanie gets impatient and waves for her to continue. "They both went a little overboard with the support. Martha kept offering wine or suggesting that climbing the stairs to my room was too much effort, encouraging me to just stay in Castle's room," she explains with rolling eyes while Lanie laughs.

"Was Alexis more subtle?" Lanie hoots.

"Only in comparison to her grandmother," Beckett confesses with a grin. "She kept asking me if the noise bothered me. I wasn't sure what she was talking about until she confided that she has earplugs so she can sleep without hearing _anything_ ," Beckett finishes with an embarrassed laugh, which Lanie joins.

Shaking her head, Lanie casts her friend a look of exasperation. "It sounds like you stayed in your own room, except for the naps," she surmises, watching Beckett nod in affirmation.

"I'm trying to be careful," she confesses. "Castle's heart is tender right now. He knows how I feel, not that crawling into his bed left much doubt. When he's ready, we'll move forward."

This comment makes Lanie sit back again as she looks at her friend. "I've gotta say, Kate, you surprise me." Prompted by Beckett's furrowed brow, Lanie tries to explain. "You just seem so calm about all this. You've been a _wreck_ for months," she says, squashing Beckett's nascent objection with a fierce look. "And now you're just… peaceful and smiley." Then, looking at her friend, she has to add "And blushy."

" _Blushy_?" Beckett asks with a laugh. "Nice word. You're right, I guess," she says, taking another sip of wine. "It's strange. On the one hand, I'm terrified. This is for real, Lanes – there's no doubt about what we want or what we hope this relationship will be. That's a lot of pressure even without thinking about our pasts or the things going on now," she admits, looking daunted for a moment before she starts to smile again. "But on the other hand, I'm grateful. _So_ grateful. I was _this far_ ," she says while holding her hand up with just a little space between her index finger and thumb, "from losing him, losing it all. I know how lucky I am."

"Damn," Lanie says a few moments later, exaggerating the surprise that she feels. "Do you realize that you – Detective Kate Beckett – just gave a speech about your _emotions_?" she gasps in awe, clutching at her heart like Castle does when feigning shock.

"It was hardly a _speech_ ," Beckett complains in reply, rolling her eyes exactly as she does when faced with the chest-clutching nonsense.

"I wasn't teasing," Lanie replies, before Beckett's incredulous looks makes her try a different tack. "Well, I was, but not to give you trouble. I'm allowed to be impressed and jealous, right?" she asks with a laugh. "You just look _good_ , Kate. I think staying at the loft agrees with you. Tell me about it?"

"It was different than the last time I stayed," Beckett answers, thinking about her time there after losing her apartment. "Even with all the heavy stuff going on, or maybe because of it, we just took the time to relax around each other. Simple things, mostly – we'd read together, or I'd curl up with a book while he did some writing. He's practicing the piano again, so I'd snuggle into the couch and listen."

"Is that for that arson case?" Lanie asks, the small grin on her face reflective of imagining the scenes at the loft. "Javi told me about that. Did you get a piano lesson, too?"

Lanie knows she's hit paydirt when Beckett's rosy glow spreads again and her friend looks down. "Maybe," Beckett tries, laughing before Lanie even presses the point.

"If I remember Javi's description, that would've put you on Castle's lap with your hands on top of his while he played, right?" she asks, her hands and fingers moving as if playing an invisible piano in demonstration. "Sounds cozy."

"You have no idea," Beckett peeks up with a devilish smile. "Alexis walked in on us, though. I would've been embarrassed, except she was just so happy to see us together that I couldn't feel bad."

"Huh," Lanie replies. "I didn't get a picture of that one."

Rolling her eyes, Beckett smiles inside. She's not spoken to Alexis about it, but the young woman seems to be getting very protective of them and their budding relationship. After the teasing about the beach picture, Castle's daughter's been warmly accommodating. If Lanie asked for a picture now, Beckett's pretty sure that Alexis wouldn't play.

"She couldn't take pictures," Beckett says instead. "When she joined us, we moved into the kitchen to cook dinner. It was fun."

Lanie's only reply is a flat, disbelieving stare.

"What?" Beckett asks defensively. "I can cook."

Lanie's look doesn't change.

"Just because I don't cook often doesn't mean anything," Beckett tries again.

Still no change.

"Cooking for one's a drag," Beckett tries. "But when I want to make the effort…"

"Anything frozen, pre-made, or boiled after being poured out of a blue box doesn't count," Lanie cuts in, squelching Beckett's defense.

" _Fine_ ," Beckett finally capitulates with a huff. "I'm learning."

Lanie tries to hold her look, but it finally crumbles, leaving Lanie, then Beckett, laughing.

"You are such a brat," Beckett chuckles.

"Guilty," Lanie admits happily. She's about to say something else when she notices the waitress looking at them from afar, wondering if it's safe to approach. With a laugh and a wave, Lanie invites the woman over. Already, the discomfort from their earlier moment is converting to humor, leaving the ladies with smiles as well as their dinners.

"Just one more bratty question, then I'll let you relax," Lanie promises, though neither of them really believe that one question will be sufficient. "Okay, just a few. First, does he have a pole?"

" _Excuse me_?" Beckett asks, looking at her friend incredulously.

"In his bedroom," Lanie clarifies with a salacious look that suggests she wouldn't have been upset with an answer based on a different interpretation of her question. "You know, a fireman's pole? Not that it couldn't be used for other purposes…"

"No," Beckett says definitively, "there is no fireman's pole in his bedroom. And I'd thank you not to give him any ideas."

" _Damn_ ," Lanie says glibly. "There goes that fantasy. Okay, next question: if you stayed at the loft, does that mean you have a key to Castle's place?" she asks with a raised eyebrow.

Beckett's blush answers the question, but she articulates a reply, too. "Yes," she drawls out. "I have a new key." Lanie notices the reference to 'new,' so Beckett offers a terse explanation. "Castle changed the locks after the 3XK case, but I never took his old key off my ring." Noticing Lanie's deep breath, she jumps in again. "Which is something I'm not comfortable talking about."

Josh never had a chance, Lanie thinks to herself, imagining Beckett holding this memento on her key chain even as they got started and Castle was off with his ex-wife. "Okay," Lanie accedes in a gentle voice. "But I hope you get to the point where you can talk to Castle about it."

"Me, too," Beckett agrees.

"Next question," Lanie says bracingly to get them over the hopeful discussion of keys. "Have you made it to Remy's yet?"

Shaking her head, Beckett laments this answer. "Not yet. Every time we try, something comes up. But I'm not giving up, and we've spent time together in other places."

Nodding, Lanie keeps going, rushing the questions as it looks like her friend is losing patience. "Just two more. If your stay at the loft was so great, why aren't you still there?"

"I will be," Beckett promises in an unexpectedly confident tone. "We're not ready for that – haven't really earned it yet. But my few days there were a beautiful glimpse of what we can have if we do this the right way. I can imagine," she admits with a shy smile, "a day when I don't leave."

"Kate," Lanie says as she nods, looking at her friend with suspiciously wet eyes again, "you're my best friend and I'm so happy that things seem to be going so well. Here's my last question: what the hell are you doing here with _me_? Go get that man," she cheers with a smile and a teary huff.

"It's 'don't neglect our friends night,'" Beckett answers with a smile, looking a little emotional herself as she reaches out to clasp hands with her friend. "It was Rick's idea, and it's a good one. Especially considering _someone's_ complaints to Alexis about being relegated to second-class citizen status."

"Javi didn't say anything about going out with Castle," Lanie says, looking confused.

"Espo wasn't invited," Beckett laughs, reclaiming her hand to take another bite of her dinner. "Castle took Winnie dancing before her trip to LA tomorrow."

Bolting back in her chair as if slapped, Lanie fires up immediately. "Hold up – writer boy's out dancing with another woman? Now? And you're okay with it?!"

"Settle down, Lanes," Beckett teases, using her friend's nickname to help reclaim her attention. "She's his sister," she says as she raises a finger, "she's gay," she raises another, "and I owe her," she concludes with a third finger. When Lanie's irate expression doesn't clear, Beckett tries to be a little more convincing. "I owe her, Lanes. Castle was in a dark, dark place when he left the precinct. He could've gone back to his old ways. He could've found someone new. He could've moved away or gotten into all sorts of trouble," she says, her own expression growing somber as she thinks about the possibilities. "But he didn't. He made a friend who helped him. A friend who needed his help, too. Their friendship kept him safe while we were finding a way back to each other."

"And you're okay with this?" Lanie says, still looking doubtful. "You trust him?"

"Wholly and completely," Beckett replies. "Winnie might not be my biggest fan," she admits, "but we understand each other. I won't begrudge them their friendship. Besides," she says, releasing a full smile, "I think he might owe Winnie just as much thanks for us getting together as I owe you. Thanks, Lanes."

Reaching again for her friend's hand, Lanie sniffs even as she's squeezing tight. "You're welcome, Kate." Then, looking a little playful again, she cocks her head. "Does this mean we're sisters?"

* * *

Looking through the peephole, Beckett's pleasantly surprised to see Castle beaming at her from the other side of her door.

"Good morning," she says as she nearly tackles him, wrapping him in a fierce hug. "I didn't think I'd see you this morning. Winnie's off to LA, then?"

"Wheels up and on her way," Castle nods before bending down to deliver a sweet kiss.

Humming into the kiss before realizing that she should probably not subject her neighbors to the sight of her mauling Castle, Beckett laughs and pulls him into her apartment. She's surprised, though, when he starts to resist as she reaches out to close the door.

"I realized what we were doing wrong," he whispers surreptitiously, slowly reaching for the door and pushing it most of the way closed. "We need to be _sneaky_ if we're going to make it to Remy's without some disaster getting in the way. Shhhh!"

Smiling wide at his antics, Beckett jumps into action, opening the closet and reaching quickly for a pair of low heels.

"Interesting choice, Beckett," Castle notes in an odd tone. Looking at him, she sees him looking down to his own feet, which are clad in blocky leather boots. Biker boots.

"Are you serious?" she asks, unable to keep the smile from her voice.

"Only if you can keep up," he answers with a nonchalant shrug. "If you're worried about it, we can take your cruiser."

"Talk, talk, talk," Beckett challenges in reply as she haphazardly tosses her heels back into the closet and grabs her boots instead. "I'm a cop, Castle. I need evidence."

"Not evidence that I'm licensed," he says with a raised brow. "I know you've already confirmed that."

"How?" Beckett asks, pausing in her efforts with her boot. Ryan, she bets. Or maybe Espo. They were both guilty as hell about something the day they pulled the DMV records for Castle and Winnie.

"You just told me," he grins back smugly, happy with his little interrogation maneuver. "Hurry up. You clearly need some coffee if that old trick worked."

Huffing again at his playfulness, Beckett can't muster the scowl she'd normally use in a situation like this. And she's okay with that. Castle's here, he's in a spirited mood, and they're _finally_ heading to Remy's. She can put up with a little nonsense for all that.

Popping to her feet, Beckett stretches to reach her helmet on the top shelf of her closet, where it's languished for the past few months. She startles when she feels his hands on her sides, then relaxes into his grip as she slows her efforts to draw out the contact. Finally spinning in place with helmet in hand, she nearly swoons (ridiculous!) when he pulls her in for another kiss. For as careful as they've both been lately, she's joyous that he's feeling so comfortably and openly affectionate.

Beckett leads them out of her apartment and the building by the hand, reveling in the opportunity to show some affection in return. She's even happier when his question gives her another opportunity. "Where's your bike, Beckett?"

"Don't need it," she replies, even though she'd love the opportunity to go out for a ride. "You're going to show me how it's done, right? Besides," she adds with a saucy wink, "I'm hoping I can cop a feel on the way to Remy's. If I can get my arms around that chest," she says, using her free hand to rub a playful swirl around his sternum.

"I _knew_ the bike was a good idea!" he crows, pulling a chuckle from them both as they round the corner of her building to approach the motorcycle parking spots.

"Oh, Castle, it's _beautiful_ ," she croons. "You did an incredible job," she compliments as she drops his hand to circle the bike, on which the long process of restoration is apparently complete. Deep black where not chromed, the old bike looks resplendent, transformed. Martha was wrong about clumsy metaphors, she thinks to herself as she remembers how Castle looked when she invited him to Florida.

But he doesn't look that way now. Not with that pout.

"You know I fixed it up?" he asks, disappointed that he doesn't get to tell the story.

"Remember when we visited the loft to talk to your mother about the _Temptation Lane_ case?" Beckett asks, noticing the flush on his cheeks as he remembers their awkward exchanges then. "I noticed the helmet and asked Alexis about it when we were talking about colleges. She was still so annoyed by your reversal after the great Vespa debate that she sold you out like _that_ ," she says, rapping on her helmet. "She even sent me a picture."

"Bet it wasn't as good as the last picture she sent," Castle replies wearing a small smile.

"It was a good picture," Beckett defends. "But I don't think anything can match the beach picture," she proclaims before reaching out to him to recreate their pose.

This time there's no question about who produced the throat-clearing noise to prompt their separation as a deeply offended older woman harrumphs past them on the sidewalk, the ridiculous ball of fluff at the end of her leash strutting with his nose in the air, too.

Chuckling, they make their way to Castle's bike, which he mounts, casting a raised brow over his shoulder. "Ready to jump on?"

" _Absolutely_ ," Beckett purrs as she kicks a leg over the seat and nestles her front against his back, using the position to shamelessly grope with both hands for a handhold somewhere around his sternum. She'd thought she was joking about being able to reach around his chest, but he really is quite broad. With a sigh, she consoles herself with the knowledge that she'll hold firm to his waist on the way to Remy's. She's just ready to flip her helmet on when Castle distracts her.

"You all set back there?" he asks, and she doesn't need to see his face to picture his leer. "Sorry if this is a little unfamiliar, but thanks for letting me drive," he says. Beckett knows she's completely besotted, because she even finds this reference to their old driving debate endearing. "It's probably been a long time since you were in back?"

Stretching her neck as she lifts her chin to speak right into his ear, Beckett answers in a breathy whisper. "Never, Rick. Be gentle with me," she husks, "it's my first time." With her arms around him, she can feel him still at her teasing. Her nip to his earlobe resolves that situation, causing him to groan before fumbling for his own helmet.

"Mine, too," he admits with a honeyed gravel voice that's dropped a full octave since they mounted the bike. "Should be fun, right?"

What follows is a remarkably fun ride. Beckett wasn't lying – she's never been willing to cede control on bike before. But Castle surprised her. Despite his relative lack of experience, he handled his Indian Chief adeptly. And for once, she just let everything go. Clutching his waist, pressed against him with the wind blowing on their faces, she just held on and smiled.

And if the ride was invigorating, arriving at Remy's was even more so. After all the dour gloom of the last three months, after all the delays and near-misses, they're finally here. Screw Everest or Machu Picchu, they've conquered their own mountain, finally bursting through the door with smiles and linked hands. The other patrons can't figure out why they look so happy, or why they're laughing, but their general good cheer spreads a few smiles.

"This is only the second time I've been here since you left," Beckett confesses as their waitress wanders back to the kitchen with their order in hand. "After we made plans to come here, it didn't feel right – I had to save it for something special. Alexis made the cut," she says with a smile that grows even wider when Castle thinks of his daughter and her affection for Beckett, "but otherwise it was just for us. I'm so happy we're finally here."

Even if her words weren't so earnest, it would be impossible to ignore her glee as she bounces in her banquette seat. Even the waitress notices her mood as she drops off their coffee orders, walking away with a smile.

Castle grins as he watches Beckett, unable to contain his surprise at seeing his often-acerbic partner literally bouncing in place. Sitting back in his seat, he enjoys watching her until she settles down and focuses on him.

"I owe you a thank you," he says gently, still smiling. "Several, actually. Thank you for helping Alexis with her college plans," he says, reaching a hand out to her. "Thank you for my birthday present," he says as he links her fingers with hers. "And thank you," he says as he lifts her hand to his lips, "for being brave. Thank you for talking to me," he says, dusting her hand with a kiss.

"Castle," she blushes, looking around to see if anyone else is watching. "Thank you for _understanding_ ," she says with a sweet smile and a wicked eyebrow quirk, recalling their semantic discussion on the beach. "Thank you for listening."

"Bet you never thought you'd say that!" he laughs, trying to keep things light. "Not after all the talking I did at the precinct."

"You might have a bit of a reputation for being a talker," Beckett replies with tongue in cheek. "But you were listening. It's like you said back when you left – you heard everything I said, and probably more than I realized of what I didn't say."

Castle huffs a laugh, leaning back into the cushions of his banquette and leveling an impressed gaze at Beckett. When she asks what prompted the look, he shrugs and looks down at the table before pulling his eyes back up to hers. "You've done that a few times, referred back to our conversation at the loft. I'm surprised it's stuck with you."

Beckett returns his look, taking some time to think about how to reply. She can tell him the conversation's never really left her mind since then, that she's replayed their scene over and over in her mind. And maybe they'll have that conversation later. But for now, she wants something more declarative, something that keeps things light but makes the import of that conversation clear.

"Top five, Castle," she says, leaning forward again and lifting her hand to tick off her entries. "Mom's death. Getting dad's sobriety chip. Graduating from the Academy. And that conversation. My most important turning points."

Castle stares at her in disbelief, affection and surprise all wrapped into one. And, as the moment lingers, a little impishness.

"Yes," Beckett admits with a smile, anticipating his comment. "That's only four. One spot's reserved for getting justice for mom. But Castle?" she asks, making sure that he's paying attention (as if he could look anywhere else). "I need you to know that I want happier milestones on that list. I still have hopes and dreams. The future looks bright."

"It does," he agrees, smiling.

As his look grows pensive, though, Beckett begins to get nervous. The confidence built on the beach, in his loft, and on the short motorcycle ride fades, replaced by recollections of tenser conversations where her meaning wasn't understood. She's getting anxious again, which he notices.

This time Castle's the one to reach out to clasp her hand. "The future does look bright," he assures her. "Far brighter than I could've imagined back when I left. You describe it as a pivotal moment – and I'm thrilled and flattered that you do – but I have to keep reminding myself that we're actually here. It was a pretty abrupt reversal."

"Complaining?" Beckett asks with a raised brow, curious and playing for a little time.

"Beckett, when have _I_ ever complained?" he asks with a studiously confused expression designed to get a rise out of her. But before she can react, he laughs and strokes her hand again. " _Not_ complaining. Just…"

"Communicating?" Beckett asks, thinking again of her conversation with Winnie and fanning her suspicion that Castle got a similar talk from his friend. "I'm glad you are. Maybe you're right – Lanie said something like that, too, that my feelings for you grew once you were gone," she confesses, while Castle looks very interested that Beckett's discussed this with Lanie, or anyone.

"It might seem abrupt to you," she says while lowering her head to shelter behind her hair, "but it wasn't to me. Or dad," she tries to casually mention.

"Hold up," Castle interjects immediately. "Your _dad_? He doesn't even know me yet!"

Cheering inside because of the 'yet,' Beckett shakes her head. "He knows you. He's heard all about you. And because he doesn't see us interact, everything he knows is based on what I've said about you and how I've said it. If there's _anyone_ who's not at all surprised that I fell in love with you, it's dad. He probably knew before I did."

"Your _dad_ ," Castle repeats, his own fatherly status probably compounding his astonishment at this revelation.

"Don't worry about him," she encourages, trying to get him engaged again. "Even when I was hurt and trying to ignore you, I'd compare everyone I met to you," she explains in a quiet voice, restarting their conversation. " _But_ ," she says, voice growing bolder as she looks up again, "I told you I'd started to figure you out. I tried to hold them back, but my hopes and dreams leapt ahead as I thought more about you. Maybe I shouldn't have kept those feelings inside, but I think you saw them peek out sometimes, despite my efforts?"

"Like when we were freezing to death?" Castle asks while recalling their bittersweet internment in the refrigerator car, getting a timid nod from Beckett. "I did. Confused the hell out of me," he admits with a huff.

"I know," Beckett replies. "I confused the hell out me, too," she admits with a little laugh. "But I was figuring things out, starting to see where I needed to go."

"And then I left," Castle reminds them both, still playing with her hand. His voice sounds melancholy, but not remorseful.

"And then you left," Beckett agrees. "Which blew everything apart," she says with a smile, holding it and his attention until he starts to smile, too. "You were really smart, by the way," she compliments him, driving up both his eyebrows in surprise. "If you'd said ' _that's it, Beckett, leave Josh or I'm gone_ ,' I don't think I'd have reacted very well."

Castle's indecent and voluble snort in response catches the attention of more than a few diners around the restaurant. He clearly has Beckett's attention, as she's leveling a not-very-pleased look his way.

" _Not reacted well_?" he asks, still chuckling. "I'd have been shot, beaten, singing soprano, or all of the above." Her abashed look makes him laugh again. "Seriously, I know you better than that. You reach your own decisions at your own pace. I wanted to explain how I saw things, not force you into Josh's arms."

Looking slightly mollified by his explanation (though still embarrassed by the attention they attracted), Beckett jumps in again, anxious to finish this part of their conversation before their food arrives. "Mission accomplished," she huffs.

"I wasn't trying to get you to leave him," Castle says, suddenly looking a little shy. "I just wanted you to be happy."

"Which is why I'm here," she replies, her confident tone and hopeful look reinforcing her point.

Her simple declaration arrows straight into Castle, who feels it almost physically. The confidence, the certainty after so many months (years?) of subtext, lingering looks, and miscommunications finally unlocks something deep within him. As well as things have gone lately, especially during her stay at the loft, he feels even lighter, more confident now.

In the wake of this realization, he can't help but to light up, releasing a blinding smile as he sits here at the Remy's date that looked like it would go so much differently when they originally set it up. His smile is a little too wide and inviting, though, as the waitress delivering their meals gets a full blast and totters off slightly unbalanced. Beckett's indulgent look from watching the effects of Castle's charm, which he hadn't noticed, catches his eye and prompts an inquiring look.

"You impressed our waitress," Beckett says with a flirty smile as she opts for the decadent, pre-noon milkshake rather than her coffee, looking like quite the coquette as she plays with the straw.

"Really?" he replies, cutting his eyes to the side but not turning his head lest he embarrass the poor woman. His restraint is so uncharacteristic that she can't help but comment.

"What's up with you today?" she asks, reaching out to grasp his hand again to make it clear that she's not criticizing. "You seem very comfortable. More than you've been lately."

Using his thumb to play with her hand, Castle nods in agreement with her observation. "Fred said some things when we were leaving for the airport this morning," he prefaces, smirking in response to Beckett's upturned brow. "It wouldn't be fair to call it a pep talk, but she made a good point."

"Do I want to hear this?" Beckett asks, her subconscious grasp for her coffee belying her concern.

"She asked me how I was going to drive us to the airport with the car in neutral," he explains, acknowledging Beckett's concern only with a roll of his eyes. "When I asked what she meant, she mentioned that I can get in the car and decide where I want to go, but that we wouldn't get anywhere until I actually put it in gear. Then, being _ever_ so subtle," he says with another eye roll, "she asked me where I wanted to go with you."

"It wasn't my imagination, then?" Beckett asks, sounding uncharacteristically shy. "You've been a little more demonstrably affectionate this morning?"

Smiling with reddened cheeks, Castle nods. "Not exactly the debonair ladykiller, right?" he asks with a shrug. "But I'm getting there," he finishes with a hopeful smile. "No more neutral."

"I noticed," Beckett reaffirms with a smile of her own. "There was certainly no neutral on our ride to Remy's," she notes, pulling a delighted smile from Castle as he thinks about the layers of her observation. "That's another one I owe your friend."

Looking at her curiously, Beckett shakes her head, holding the discussion of Fred for a different time. As much as she appreciates Castle's friend, she's interested in focusing on the two of them. She's thinking about changing the topic when Castle fires off his own question.

"So, you talked to Lanie about us?" he asks in a tone that mixes humor and wariness.

Shrugging to play up her point, Beckett offers a simple answer. "She's my Fred."

Castle chuckles and reaches for his milkshake, pausing before taking a gulp. "I'll look forward to my interrogation, then."

"You might think you're joking…," she replies with a laugh of her own, which grows in volume as Castle chokes a bit on his milkshake.

"Speaking of interrogations," he manages to say, after he's done coughing, "I thought you were going to tell me a story about your conversation with Montgomery. I've been looking forward to hearing about that."

"Well," she drawls out after a bite of her meal, "you know we were working on a project that'd help clear the way for you to come back to the precinct, right?" she asks, hiding her nerves about haring into this topic without a clearer understanding of what he's thinking about doing after this week. "I realized that it would be pretty frustrating to invite you back only to find out that we couldn't be together if you were there," she says, making it sound much simpler than it actually seemed at the time. "So, I told Montgomery that if I had to choose, I'd drop my efforts to get you back on the team."

Reaching out for her milkshake again, Beckett smiles when taking in Castle's stunned expression. "What?" she asks in faux surprise. "I told you I was going to show you I was serious."

"Yeah," he emits in reply, still not quite tracking, "but this… this was _huge_ ," he marvels. "You talked about it with your boss, you made your interest clear, and all at a time when things were pretty rocky between us," he says in a low voice still filled with astonishment. "I'm overjoyed they didn't, but things between us could've gone awry," he reminds them both.

"I had faith," Beckett says quietly, focusing on her hand as it plays with the straw in her milkshake.

"That's exactly what I told Fred," he says excitedly as he reaches for her hand again. "After the beach, after you and Alexis headed home, she asked about how things went. I was happy," he understates with a small grin, " _obviously_. And when she asked me why I was so optimistic, I told her that I have faith in us."

"We're still on the same page," Beckett laughs warmly as she adds her other hand to the clasp she shares with Castle. "As you've probably figured out, Montgomery said you could come back even if we're involved, as long as we behave in the precinct. _So_ ," she dives headlong into the conversation, "will you please come back?"

Looking down at their intertwined hands where his thumb is still stroking gently, Castle pauses to think. He's just about to reply when Beckett's nerves get the better of her.

"I'm not too late, am I?" she asks while also looking at their hands. "Monica said her husband was going to try to get you to stay beyond this week."

"I'm not going to stay at the 'house," he says, sounding a little too wistful for Beckett's comfort. "It was nice to be asked and a part of me wishes I could say yes," he says, feeling her tense up. "They're good people. Mostly," he corrects himself, thinking of the unforgiveable treatment Beckett endured from one of his colleagues. "It's noble, necessary work. And I wasn't too bad at it," he chuffs before growing more serious. "I helped people, Beckett. I _saved_ people."

"You did," she affirms, going back to stroking his hand. "I saw you in action, remember? It was terrifying," she confesses in a way that makes Castle think he might not be the only one with some lingering nightmares. "You can stay, you know," she offers in a low voice. "We don't have to work together to be together. Most people don't," she says with a shrug that's utterly unconvincing.

"Kicking me out already?" Castle teases, craning his head around to get into her field of vision. "I'd love to come back, if everyone's on board."

Smiling broadly at his expressed interest, Beckett's still a little confused by his last comment. "You mean the boys?" she asks, since Montgomery's on board and her own hope is clear.

"This is another thing we talked about so long ago," Castle reminds her with a little grin. "I don't want to force my way in again. Recent experience has opened my eyes about how distracting having me around can be."

Making a mental note to follow up on that reference, Beckett instead turns to the immediate concern. "They'll be fine," she assures him. "They've both been pretty attentive about you lately." Please don't ask for details, she thinks, promising herself that she'll talk about those later. She doesn't want to get bogged down in the speculation about his job, or the horrible night when she solved the mystery.

"Really?" Castle asks. "Huh," he says, trying to think of examples.

"I think," Beckett offers, still not wanting to dwell here but concerned that he sounded so surprised by the boys' concerns for him, "they had a run-in with Winnie." This speculation lifts Castle's eyebrows even higher. "They both knew her name and reacted like they were guilty of something when I asked them to pull her file…" she trails off, cursing herself for the slip. Hoping he doesn't notice or lets it go, she's about to change topic when he pins her with a Cheshire grin. Damn.

"When," he asks smugly, "and for what reason, might you've had need to pull my friend's file?"

Beckett's about to refuse to answer when, as if conjured by their reference to her, an image of Winnie appears in Beckett's mind. Fine, I get it, she thinks to herself. Direct communication.

"When I was nervous and jealous and unsure about where we stood or if we could find a way back to each other," she says, starting shyly but growing bolder as she watches Castle's eyes widen at her candor. "Because I was nervous and jealous and unsure," she finishes, repeating herself to fully answer his teasing question.

Lifting a hand, she uses a finger to help Castle lift his jaw to stop his gaping. "That's not how I thought I'd leave you gaping," she says with a provocative wink. "Are you okay?" she asks, using the excuse to rub his cheek since her hand was nearly there already.

"If I say yes are you going to stop caressing me?" he asks, still sounding dazed, though his lips twitch as he tries not to smile or turn to kiss her hand.

"Only temporarily," she answers with another wink, unhinging his jaw again. This time, Beckett decides to shove a french fry in his mouth to force it closed. He turns the tables, though, when she doesn't pull her finger back quickly enough and watches his lips close on her fingertip, nearly squeaking when she feels the swirl of his tongue.

This time, Castle gets to lift her jaw back into place.

"If the team's okay with it," he says, returning to their discussion while Beckett zones in again, "I want to come back. I can't imagine Bob's still concerned about it. I think I'll ignore him even if he is."

"He's fine," Beckett assures him, snapped back into the conversation by the reminder of her work with the mayor. "I actually spoke with him about bringing you back. He lent me his intern to help with our project about you." When Castle lifts a brow, she rolls her eyes. "At the risk of enflaming your ego, we put together a presentation that showed how good you were for our team."

"Finest barista in the NYPD," he laughs, opting to provide some relief on the ego front.

"That too," Beckett laughs. "But you know we're talking about more than that, right? You're good, Castle. We needed the data to convince others, but we knew it."

"I do miss building theory," he replies with a grin.

His welcome words and beautiful face almost distract her. But Beckett recognizes the deflection.

"You're a good detective, Castle," she repeats herself. "I didn't think I'd need the presentation to convince _you_ , but maybe I was wrong," she says while quirking an eyebrow at her. "And from what I heard, you were a good fireman, too." To her shock and surprise, Castle's actually starting to look a little bashful. When she confided to Lanie that she pushed hard on Castle because he didn't flinch, she was thinking that was mostly about personal issues. Does it extend to his shadowing experiences, too?

"I need to back up," she says clearly, wanting to get this right. "I want you to come back to me," she says, happy to make this more personal than she's previously dared. "I want it to be like before, but better," she vows, catching his attention. "I've been thinking recently about how much of the way we interact stems from how hard I fought your presence initially. That kind of set the tone and we never adjusted once you'd earned your place. And the same with the boys – you got the rookie hazing, but in some ways it's never stopped. But we're _asking_ you to come back. I'm not fighting it, and you're not a rookie."

"Beckett," he objects, "I'm not soft. I give as good as I get."

"Maybe," she replies, giving him a disbelieving look when he seems ready to argue. "I figured something out when I was talking to Martha, back when she tried to poison us all in the loft," she explains, pulling a laugh from Castle. "I pushed her a little but got frustrated when her acting skills masked the reactions I typically use to figure people out. It wasn't until later that I realized you've looked the same way. You might not be an actor, but you've learned from one. So I _know_ ," she declares, "that some of the shots you take bother you more than you let on. And even if I'm wrong," she continues when it looks like he's going to interject, "there's no harm in being more appreciative of your help, right?"

"For you," Castle allows, "I suppose I could put up with it."

Laughing, she squeezes his hands again and rolls her eyes. "What a martyr. So, not to push or anything, but when can you start?" she presses, playing her advantage already.

"As soon as we're back from the beach," he answers, the salacious look he's sending her way already increasing the temperature.

"There's a dilemma," she replies, reveling in the knowledge that the most difficult choice on her near-term agenda isn't how but where to spend time with him.

With smiles and lighter hearts, they finally turn to the food on the table that's gone largely ignored. After a few minutes of idle chatter during their meal, Castle dabs at his lips with a napkin and sits back.

"Two questions before I come back to work, boss," he says, testing out the honorific. Both he and Beckett scrunch their faces in reaction, not liking the sound or implication. Recognizing their unstated agreement, Castle lets it go and focuses on his question instead. "How are things going to work once Montgomery comes back?"

Trust Castle to figure out what's bothering her and jump right to it. This is something that's been nagging at her, something she was hoping Castle could help her manage from the precinct.

"I'm not sure," she replies honestly. "I'm glad he's gone so I can think about this. He's safe, right?"

"He's fine," Castle replies. "Don't ask – I don't know where they're holed up, but I'd know if something happened. If Paul hadn't checked in, I'd know about it."

"Alexis' driver?" she asks in surprise. "I thought you might be laying it on a little thick when you told Matt about Paul," she recalls, thinking back to the tense scene in the kitchen of the beach house. "It's not like you to be understated."

Feigning offense, Castle just shakes his head. "I can be discreet when necessary," he purrs, hoping to conjure images unrelated to their conversation.

"Luckily, we don't need to be," she replies with a saucy look, embracing the flirtation. Of course, her comment is based on Montgomery's approval of their relationship in the precinct, which just brings the conversation back to him again.

"What am I going to do, Rick?" she asks, looking for his advice. "He was a criminal. Had he been an honorable man – or just a law-abiding one – mom would still be alive," she laments, thinking about what might have been. Castle remains quiet, letting her think.

"But he turned himself into a good cop. He tried to help her. And when he couldn't help her, he helped me. I'm who I am today because he was like a father to me, especially when I didn't have mine," she says quietly, still scarred from years her father was struggling with sobriety. "And now he might've orchestrated the end of mom's killer. How do I balance all of that? How do I take orders from a man when I alternate between loathing and revering him? How do I trust him?"

The sorrow and confusion in her tone is heartbreaking, all the more because their conversation leading up to this had been full of affection and hope. Castle can't stop himself from moving. Without breaking their clasp, he manages to scoot out of his seat only to round the table and slide in next to Beckett. Pulling their hands into his lap, he leans against her slightly. She gladly reciprocates, letting her head fall to rest against his shoulder.

"I'm afraid I don't have the answer for you, Kate," he says quietly.

"That makes it sound like you have answers for _you_ ," Beckett observes, detective instincts still humming despite her distress.

"You're right," he confesses uneasily. "Our considerations are a little different. For me, it's easy – he's taken efforts to eliminate a deadly threat to you. Coonan, Raglan, McAllister… the man behind them all," he says, proving his point about discretion by refusing to utter Bracken's name here in public, "he would send someone for you, because you'd never stop hunting him. And while I know you're a bad-ass," he assures her, earning a chuff, "I'm happy that you might not have to prove it against him."

"Montgomery _has_ been willing to shield me from him," Beckett admits, trying to convince herself. "And he said he would've testified…" she trails off, before realizing that talking to him has actually proven to be pretty easy, and gratifying. "But you know what really bothers me?" she asks rhetorically. "His comment about the hand of God guiding me to his precinct."

Castle gives a sad nod, which he knows she can feel even if she can't see it. "Because he didn't seek you out," he voices his own speculation, her stillness confirming they're thinking the same thing. "Makes you wonder if he would've provided protection if you hadn't been right there, breaking the rules to work on her case right under his nose."

Beckett doesn't answer, other than to nod against his shoulder.

"We're partners, right?" Castle asks, nudging her ever so gently with his shoulder and feeling her nod in return. "So you know I'll back your play, I'll be there to support you any way I can. You don't have to decide now. If he comes back and things are awkward, we'll figure out a way to make it work. If we can't, I wouldn't be surprised if he retires – in many ways, he's done everything he hoped to do. Maybe more. And if it doesn't work, and he doesn't retire, we'll explore other options."

"I'm not really the type to be a kept woman, Castle," she grumbles.

"Why Katherine Beckett, wherever has your mind wandered?" Castle teases. He can't see her cheeks now that she's tilted her head forward to hide behind her hair, but he can see her ear, which is a beautiful shade of pink. "Let the record show," he says officiously, getting a groan in reply, "that I was only talking about other _career_ options. I know _far better_ than to risk scaring you off by speculating on our romantic future quite yet."

"Richard Castle, poster-boy for tact and restraint," Beckett mutters, pulling a laugh out of him.

"Hey, Beckett," he says mischievously. "Did you know that I can feel your head tip back when you roll your eyes?"

In reply, she shakes her head to deny it, deny this whole embarrassing line of questions, but can't help but chuckle. "Okay, smart guy, prove it. What other career options were you thinking about?"

"Anything, really. I've always pictured you as a model," he speculates, getting an elbow to the ribs as Beckett hides any reaction that might reveal her secret. "Secret agent would work, too, except for all the Bond-types who'd hit on you. No," he thinks aloud, "not that. Let's see. Librarian? Attorney? Judge? Nurse? French maid?"

"Hold it right there," Beckett cautions. "I think your mind jumped tracks from potential occupations to potential _roles_ ," she says suggestively as he lifts her head and turns to see his reaction. Guilty. So, so guilty.

"Spoilsport," he complains, though he's smiling even wider than she is.

"Any last, _legitimate_ thoughts?" she prompts.

"We could always transfer, I guess," he says with a shrug. "Bet there's an opening at the 28th. Oomph!" he exclaims as her elbow finds his side again. "Too soon?"

"We'd better turn to your second question," she answers primly, "before you get yourself into more trouble."

Looking nervous, Castle shakes his head. "I don't think so. We'd better just table that one for now."

His reaction spurs her inquisitive nature and arouses suspicions. If his second question was enough that even he thought it was over the line, it must be a doozy.

"Come on, Castle, spit it out. We'll deal with your question, then figure out what to do with the rest of the day," she says, looking over at her motorcycle helmet and wondering if she could coax him into a long ride out of the city.

"No, really, we should let it slide," he answers hastily. Having noticed her glance, he tries to change the subject. "How about we go grab your bike and you can show me how to ride?"

"Castle," she urges in exasperation. "We've been all about direct communication. Just tell me, then we can go for a ride."

"I was going to ask…," he trails off before nudging Beckett upright so that he could slide out of the seat and move back across the table from her. With the illusion of safety he appears slightly more confident, but still wary. "We were talking about transfers, right?" he reminds her. "I was going to ask if you'd put in a good word for someone else's transfer."

"Rick, we can't just ship Demming out of the Twelfth," Beckett replies in exasperation. "Besides, haven't I made it clear that there's nothing to worry about there?"

"I was talking about a transfer in, not a transfer out," he clarifies, looking nervous. "Or at least a transfer away, if it works that way."

Confused, Beckett sits back to think. Who would Castle know that'd want to transfer in? It would have to be someone he knew pretty well, and probably someone with whom he was on friendly terms if he'd chance seeing him in the precinct. Waitaminute. Not him. Her.

"Renoux?" Beckett asks, watching Castle flinch. "You want me to help _Renoux_ transfer here, after what she tried to do? Are you _crazy_?!"

"Hold on," Castle begs, hands extended in supplication. "She's not bad. She didn't know what Mendoza was trying to do until after we'd met."

"But you did?" Beckett interjects, while still managing to doubt his take on Renoux's motivations.

"Seriously?" Castle asks in reply. "Does Mendoza seem like a subtle guy to you? Catching the arsonist seemed like a second priority to him."

"Do you really expect me to believe that you were _offended_ that he tried to force a beautiful woman on you?" Beckett asks, incredulity making her head spin.

Looking frustrated, Castle shakes his head and leans over the table, fully abandoning his defensive posture. "Twice, Beckett," he declares, letting her mind try to figure out what he means only for a moment. "I've been maneuvered into disastrous dates _twice_. The first was Meredith – pretty obvious how that one worked out," he grumbles. "The second was a few weeks ago and was part of a harrowing and utterly doomed attempt to get over you," he says bluntly. "One good thing came of that second time – I couldn't have been more on edge or wary when I ended up at the 28th. She never stood a chance."

"But that's what she wanted," Beckett asserts. "A chance."

"Perhaps," Castle allows. "But I told her nothing would happen and she respected that. When we worked, it was all about the case. And as a result, Mendoza's made her life a living hell. She's miserable because of me, so I'd like to help her out," Castle confesses, and Beckett's surprised to find herself understanding where he's coming from. Having heard enough from Mendoza to know what an ass he is certainly helps.

"One last thing," Castle mentions, recapturing her attention. "She asked me to ask you for a recommendation."

Pausing to think about this, Beckett realizes the implications quickly. "She asked in a way to show she understood the nature of our partnership?" When he nods, she scrubs a hand through her hair. "But… that was right after LA, right? The outlook for our partnership wasn't very bright just then."

"We were in a rough place," he agrees, "though she had the benefit of seeing me once I got back, after a talk with Fred helped clear my thinking a bit. But she's pretty smart," he allows. "She'd probably figured it out even before then. Even if I hadn't," he ends with a huff.

Beckett thinks a few moments, then tosses her hands up. "I can't _believe_ this," she laments, mostly facetiously. "You're not even back in the precinct yet and you're already talking me into doing ridiculous things."

"Thanks, Kate," he answers with a smile for her help and a laugh for her drama.

"Just know this," she says fiercely. "I don't know where she'll end up. But if it's the Twelfth, you'd better watch your step, buddy. I. Don't. Share." An unsubtle tap on the table with each of those last words reinforces her position, but not nearly so much as her look.

Unfortunately, Castle's reaction is to smile wide, pleased beyond imagining at Beckett's assertion of her place. It's hardly a look that suggests meek compliance. When Beckett looks ready to explore other potential ramifications of a Renoux move, he lifts his hand to ask her to let him speak, still smiling.

"You don't have to worry," he assures her, reaching again for her hands. "I don't want to be shared. There's only one member of the NYPD for me," he says, smiling wider as Beckett squeezes his hand. But he's not going to stop now. There's one more point he needs to make sure she understands.

"She was a fine colleague – she learned quickly, helped me navigate the precinct, and fed Mendoza enough to keep him distracted. But she could never be my partner," he vows. "I haven't worked with her for years. I haven't faced death with her. I haven't shared my secrets or blundered into hers," he says, getting a little huff from Beckett. "But most importantly," he says as he squeezes her hands and drinks in her mirthful look, "I haven't fallen in love with her."

"Castle?" she asks, eyes growing glassy.

"Love," he says clearly, smiling wide as he steals her line from their walk on the beach. "I was talking about love, Beckett. I love you. You know that, right?"

"I do now," she declares as she stands as much as she can in the booth, leaning over the table to reel him in for a kiss. She's beaming when they break apart, flushing from excitement and emotion and maybe just a little embarrassment from the round of polite clapping offered by the other diners at Remy's.

Castle hardly looks any more composed, sitting there struck dumb, a goofy smile on his face and lips swollen enough to suggest he was just kissed within an inch of his life. His eyes slowly come back into focus when they land on her face. Without looking away, he raises his hand and in a clear voice, says, "Check, Please!"

This elicits a few more claps from around the restaurant, as well as some smiles. Rather than looking more embarrassed, though, Beckett looks inquisitive. Uh oh, Castle thinks, she's on the scent of something.

"So, mister NYPD consultant," she enunciates clearly as she reaches again for his hand. For a fleeting moment, her tone makes Castle think she's about to grab his wrist and cuff him, but then he shrugs as he realizes that he'd be fine with that. "I noticed a curiosity in your statement. About your focus on one member of the NYPD – I had the distinct impression that you weren't speaking hypothetically, nor were you talking about Renoux. Care to identify and elaborate on any other inquiries you've received?"

"Let's see," Castle says as he tries to sit back in the booth, though he's prevented by Beckett's grip on his hand. Lifting his other hand, he raises his fingers as he scrunches his face in concentration. "One, two, three," he starts to count vaguely as Beckett's grip on his hand gets tighter and tighter, "four, _five_!" he says in victory.

"Five women?!" Beckett growls.

"No, Fifth Amendment," he smirks, though his smile falters when he can't manage to slip Beckett's grip.

"Castle…," Beckett growls. "I thought we were being open and direct?"

"Kate," he says, shifting quickly from joking to earnest. "We don't need to worry about this. It's like flirting with Maddie," he tries to explain, getting a 10 from the Russian judge for his dive from the frying pan and into the fire, "it's fun because we both know it would never go anywhere. I made it clear from the start that I'd never go out with one of your coworkers – there's just no way that wouldn't have led to unfair speculation about you."

"You made it clear from the start?" she asks in mild shock. "Where was I? What'd you do, wear a sign?"

"That might've been fun," Castle thinks aloud, before honoring her request for honesty. "I joked and teased, diverted the topic whenever it came up. People eventually understood and there was no need for an embarrassing conversation."

Beckett nods, easily imagining this scene in her mind. Castle's surprisingly adept at diversion, so it's not a stretch to think that he would've sidestepped fraught conversations with a joke and a smile.

"That was sweet," Beckett allows.

"Maybe," he answers. "It was certainly selfish, since I had my eyes set on you. Anyway, it mostly worked."

"Mostly?" Beckett asks again, squeezing his hand quickly to let him know she's still paying attention.

"Yeah, mostly," he replies, vexed. "LT just won't take no for an answer."

This time it's Beckett's snort that catches attention of other diners. Castle chuckles at his joke while handing what Beckett suspects is far too much money to their waitress, but she's in too good a mood to care.

"So," she says happily as the waitress hustles off wearing a large grin, "what's next? We've both got the day off, we should take advantage of it."

Nodding along, Castle agrees entirely. "You mentioned going for a ride, right?" he asks while looking at their helmets.

"If you want," she replies quickly and easily. "It's been too long since I've been out on my bike."

"Why don't we head back to your place," Castle suggests as he stands, offering Beckett a hand to help her rise. "We can go for a long ride," he says with a lingering look while leaning in close to her ear, repeating her earlier move by indulging in a quick nibble, "and then we can take the bikes out for a spin afterward."

Beckett's already pulled him out the door before their waitress chases them down, holding the helmets they left behind in their haste to depart.

* * *

A/N: Like Week Twelve, this separate chapters of this week will have a mix of topics. The weekend conversation above focused on friendships and relationships. Other aspects will be addressed in the next chapter.

My accuracy in this regard is questionable, but I think there are about two chapters left to this tale. I'm not sure they'll arrive more frequently than usual, but I'm looking forward to catching up on reading and reviewing now that some work deadlines have passed.


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional.

A/N: Remember back in chapters three and four, when everything seemed so dour and gloomy? This chapter might be the payoff.

* * *

 **Week Thirteen (part two)**

"Good morning," Castle says with a smile as Beckett stretches slowly after awakening atop of him.

"It's not really morning, is it?" Beckett asks curiously though without the alarm that might be expected from oversleeping. Stretching languidly from her perch, she can't help but grin in satisfaction as her muscles ripple and stretch. Her smile stretches even wider as she feels corresponding movements beneath her.

"No," Castle laughs. "You've only been out for a few minutes. I thought I was the one who was supposed to roll over and fall asleep?"

"What in the hell did you do to me?" she murmurs in wonder, letting her eyes fall closed again as she nuzzles into his neck, reveling in the smell and the ability to cuddle in so brazenly. "And laugh again, please. That felt wonderful."

His chuckle satisfies the second request before he turns to her question. "What did I do to you? Not even a tiny fraction of the things I've imagined for us," he promises, voice dropping as it sends a delicious curl of pleasure chasing down her still-sensitized nerves, which he accentuates with a hand that traces the dips and whorls of her back and bottom.

"Oh, God," Beckett groans. "You're going to kill me." Then, after a wiggle and a chuckle of her own, she adds, "I'm looking forward to it."

"We just need some rest," he replies reasonably, trying desperately to keep his dream of sexual adventures and Beckett's ongoing and vigorous participation alive. "You seem to have started already."

"Not my fault you're so comfortable, Castle," Beckett replies as she shifts to the side, half sliding off of him so that there's room for her hand to stroke and play with his chest. "Besides, as unbelievable as we've been in bed, I like actually sleeping with you, too," she admits with a sweet kiss to his cheek that means more because of the juxtaposition with the passionate, deep kisses they shared before her nap.

"I don't know, Beckett – seems like your sneaky naps at the loft have conditioned you to fall asleep when you're in a bed with me," he teases. "Not sure that's how I want you reacting in bed."

"You wanna talk about conditioning?" she asks, trying to get sassy but still lacking enough energy to really give him trouble. "Lanie's always been the one with the fireman fetish, but now if I see anything – firetruck, firehouse, hell, even a fire hydrant and I get a thrill as I think of you," she says, drawing her fingernails lightly across his chest.

"You associate me with fire hydrants?" Castle laughs. "Woof, woof."

Rewarding his joke (and getting a kick out of the image of him lifting his leg, especially now) with a playful swat to the chest, she continues on with her confession. "I see a hospital scene on TV and I remember you barefooted and bare chested, standing there in jeans that are barely holding on," she purrs, letting her hand drift further down to cover the territory that would usually covered by those jeans. "You should know now what that does to me. And you wanna know what _really_ gets me going?" she whispers into his ear as she nibbles it.

"Absolutely," Castle manages to reply, somehow.

"Earthquakes," she replies, thinking back to Castle's befuddled reaction on their LA trip.

"That's it, we're moving," Castle declares resolutely. "Where's the nearest fault line?"

"It doesn't have to be an actual quake," Beckett laughs, her hands shifting to start drawing patterns on his body. "After all, it wasn't a quake the first time," she smirks, getting a huff from Castle in reply. "Basically, anything that rumbles makes me think about you sweeping me off my feet and giving me a glorious view of your ass."

"I _knew_ you checked me out," Castle brags, chest puffing up in pride as if this compliment somehow exceeds the performance that left Beckett collapsed on top of him.

"Turnabout, Castle," she replies with a grin, still using her hands to draw patterns on his skin. "You can't tell me that you don't have similar recollections."

"This is going to surprise you," he replies with a smile of his own, "but it's not my sneak peek from your tub or the pool scene from LA that tease me when I think of you, even though those were magnificent," he prefaces with a sinful voice and a piercing look that tells her he's being serious. "It's your dresses," he whispers. "You don't know how many times you've devastated me with your dresses. The dance our first year together," he replies quickly, eyes bright. "I can still picture you in that dress – you were _exquisite_ ," he says in awe.

Ridiculously, despite engaging in wildly acrobatic and profoundly satisfying lovemaking and despite lying on him while completely nude, it's the reverence in his tone makes her blush.

"Oh, the dresses," he continues, growling in her ear. "My book launch. Driving the Ferrari. Coming down the stairs for Tommy and Shannon's wedding. All different aspects of perfection."

"I still have those dresses. I'd like to wear them again," she admits, looking into Castle's eyes. "Maybe we can recreate some of those memories," she proposes, letting her hands wander again. "Maybe change the ending a bit?"

"You make me greedy, Beckett," Castle muses, his trailing fingers reinforcing his point. "If all those steps led us here," he lifts a hand and makes a circular gesture taking in Beckett's bedroom before letting his hand fall back to the tousled bedding, "how can I ask for more? And yet, the thought of reenacting those scenes with the promise of doing it together... that's irresistible," he marvels. "That's the substance of my fantasies," he confesses.

"Well," Beckett offers after a few moments during which her lips were otherwise engaged, "if we're talking about clothes, do you think you could keep your work pants? You know, the kind with the suspenders?" she asks with a lilt in her voice.

"Not the coat?" Castle asks, wondering if she'd like the whole ensemble.

"Why on earth would I want you to cover your chest?" she asks, scratching her fingers lightly across the body part in question. "But you can grab the helmet, too," she adds with a greedy chuckle.

"Halloween is going to be so much fun this year," Castle imagines with glee.

Lifting her head, Beckett gives him an incredulous look. "You want to wait until Halloween?"

"I don't want to wait until tomorrow," he answers in a low rumble, letting his hands wander with purpose.

"Hold on, hold on," Beckett laughs while swatting his hand. "I'm not quite ready yet. Still can't really feel my legs," she admits with a sinful smile.

"I guess jumping on the bikes is out, then," Castle laughs, not looking at all upset.

"We've got time, Castle," she replies sweetly. "Plenty of time."

Castle replies with a sweet, lingering kiss that almost has her reconsidering her decision, but she can feel the moment inspiration strikes him. "How would your legs feel about a long, hot bath?"

"You mentioned the substance of fantasies?" she asks as her answer.

"Stay right here," Castle requests with a kiss, sliding out from beneath her to head for the bathroom. She might be wonderfully exhausted, but she'd have to be dead before she'd lack the energy to watch that ass as he moves into her bathroom and bends low to start the bath.

It takes her longer to realize than she'd admit, but it dawns on her as Castle fusses with the bath that he's teasing her. It's not a striptease, since he's been gloriously nude from the start, but it's no less stimulating. No, she thinks, that's not quite the right word. _Revitalizing_. That's it. The low buzz as her nerves pop and flare in confirmation brings a sultry smile to her face as she watches Castle turn to return to the bed.

Noticing her regard, Castle surprises her. Rather than throw her 'creepy staring' reference back at her, he jogs the last two steps, lifting his knees high. Beckett recognizes the prompt and obliges with a quote. "'I love quick-time harch.'"

"People might disagree," Castle says as he reaches the side of her bed, happily caressing her body with his eyes, "but they'd be wrong. Quoting a Mel Brooks movie makes you impossibly hotter."

Speaking of hotter, Beckett takes a moment to appreciate the scene. There's Castle beside her bed, wearing not a stitch. It's like their glorious hospital scene all over again, except: a) Lanie's not here (thank goodness), b) he's not wearing pants, c) he's totally and completely focused on her, and d) he's just drawn them a bath. Sometimes, life is very, very good.

"Did you feel that?" Castle asks, seriously enough to almost shift her attention up his body to his eyes. She's hardly murmured a confused sound when bolts into action. "Earthquake," he promises as he once again lifts Beckett, this time cradling her against his chest in a bridal carry rather than tossing her over his shoulder. It might not be a complete reenactment and she can't see his ass from here, but it promises more direct contact. She'll allow it, she decides magnanimously.

Beckett asks to be lowered at the door the bathroom. There's an immediate practicality to which she needs to attend, but it's also probably a good idea to slide down Castle's front here rather than in the slippery tub. Today is a victory, a celebration. Probably best to ensure it doesn't include a trip to the emergency room.

Mere moments later they're in the tub, Beckett leaning back into the breadth of Castle's chest. With her head on his shoulder, she turns to offer a kiss while raising a hand to grip one of his biceps. "I could do without the whole 'charging into burning buildings' thing," she says gently, "but your job has some fantastic benefits."

"Glad you like it," he hums in response. "Will you go to the gym with me to help me stay in shape?"

Hmmm, sweaty Castle in basketball shorts and a tank-top. And her in yoga pants and a clingy sports bra. Sounds fun.

"You working through' all my fantasies here, Rick?" she asks, letting her hands draw lines from his knees up this thighs in answer. His happy hum vibrates through her, warming her as much as the bath water.

"I really am glad things worked out for you at the firehouse," she says, growing more serious. "When I think of what else could've happened back after you left…, well, it helps me remember how lucky we are," she confesses with another kiss. "Was it successful? For your writing, I mean."

"I think so," Castle answers seriously. "I've got a character in mind, based on someone there."

"Carla?" she asks, trying not to sound jealous about the kind woman who redirected Beckett to the Hamptons when she could've simply ignored her.

Castle strokes her arms before banding his around her, offering a reverent hug. "No," he answers in a low, confident voice. "I've already got a muse," he assures her. "And I don't need a villain, so Matt's out. I'm actually thinking about modeling a character after Ben."

"Costa?" Beckett replies in surprise, before leaning into Castle to think about this. "Monica will be thrilled. Not sure he will be," she laughs.

"No, I don't think he will be," Castle chuckles as he loosens his arms and lets his hands wander. "Maybe I'll ask Monica about it. I'm making a guest appearance at her next book club meeting. Join me? It sounds like she enjoyed meeting Nikki Heat's inspiration, so I bet her friends would get a kick out of it, too."

"I'm not really comfortable with that," Beckett says in a low voice as her head lolls against his shoulder, her body very comfortable with his current attentions. "But she was so sweet. As long as we're not on a case, I'll join you."

"It'll be after we're back from the beach," he whispers in her ear, letting visions of sun and sand supplement the activities of his hands. "Work's a mess this week, then we're off to enjoy the holiday weekend."

"Mess?" Beckett murmurs in reply, impressed that she could manage a monosyllabic response given that she's starting to have difficulty focusing and breathing.

"Irregular shifts," Castle teases, using his hands to briefly adopt an arrhythmic pattern to accentuate his comment. A mewling growl gets them back in time and restores Beckett's blissful, closed-eye smile. "I've got some PR work to do since it's my last week. And a piano session. And one more night shift – Ben's got me slated for Thursday night, so I can sleep during the day and be ready for the going away party at the Haunt on Friday night."

Panting lightly, Beckett pulls herself out of her daze long enough to string together a few words. "PR? Wanna explain, Mr. April?"

"Who told you… Fred," he answers his own question. "Had to be. Yeah," he admits, chuckling as he pauses his speech (but not the motions of his hands) to lavish some attention on Beckett's neck. "Upcoming shoot for that. Sorry, but I'm not supposed to shave between now and then."

"Hmmmm," she replies, as if she's just taken a bite of something delicious. Then, shocking Castle, she pulls away to sit forward and pull out the stopper to drain the tub.

"Are we done?" he asks, ceding control to his partner.

"Oh, no," she says as she spins in the tub and pins him with a wild, dark-eyed stare. "You and I, we're just getting started."

Trying to play it cool, Castle tries not to react. His voice remains admirably smooth, though another part of his body betrays his interest in this situation. "Legs back in action? Time for the bikes?"

"Not the ride I'm looking for," she promises as she crawls on top of him. "I want to do something wild and reckless," she promises. "Right here. Then, we'll talk about something else wild and reckless. Then, we'll see how things go."

The last coherent thought Castle can manage before his mind melts is to wonder if her wild and reckless thoughts for the evening include any of those dresses.

* * *

Looking over at his partner in her most fierce and austere set of detective's clothes, Castle can't help but wonder how he got talked into this. Wild and reckless indeed.

Noticing his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel of the borrowed undercover car, Beckett forces down her own discomfort to try to ease him. "I'll be fine, Rick," she promises. "One quick visit, then we're gone. Back to the precinct to collect my cruiser. And my suitcases," she reminds him, drawing attention to what they can look forward to later this evening.

The suitcases were part of his condition – no, not _condition_ , she thinks to herself, looking for the right word. The suitcases were part of his hope, his suggestion on how to best manage the potential consequences of her admittedly foolhardy plan. His place behind the wheel, hidden behind tinted windows, was a nod to their safety. "I've always wanted to be a wheel-man, Beckett," he'd tried to joke, though he was okay with the darkened windows rather than a ski mask. A get-away driver and luggage – safety and hope.

"I still can't believe we're doing this," he mumbles, mostly to himself.

"Shoe's on the other foot, eh?" she tries to joke, reminding them that it's usually Castle who comes up with the risky ideas. When it's apparent that her crack didn't lift his mood, she tries logic instead. "Your friend at the _Ledger_ said they're running the story tomorrow, right?" she asks rhetorically. "Now's the right time for this. Now's the _only_ time for this."

"I know," he confesses in a low voice, hands flexing on the wheel. "Just be safe," he says as he pulls to the curb so she can make the final approach on foot.

"I will be, I promise," she vows, reaching for his hand. "You've given me a reason to come back," she admits before reeling him in for a fierce departing kiss. "And speaking of back, remember that I'll use a back door when I leave, just to make sure no one gets a look at you."

"I remember," he replies. Taking a pass on joking on his role as a chauffeur is a clear sign of his tension, so Beckett pulls him close. "Love you," she whispers in his ear before reaching for the door handle and forcing herself out of the car.

Beckett uses the short walk to clear her mind and focus on the looming conversation. By the time she's walking up to rap on the door of the brownstone, she's at her professional best, Detective Kate Beckett here to kick ass and tilt into the wind.

"Senator Bracken isn't receiving guests," drones the drab-faced underling who answers the door. His eyes take in the badge she's holding out without any glimmer of recognition or reaction, "regardless of their employer."

"He'll want to see me," she replies confidently, offering a business card with her other hand. The door closes on her face, but Beckett waits patiently, knowing that her appearance here will provoke a response.

This time, it's a short, sharp-faced attorney with slick hair and a slicker suit who opens the door. "Unless you have a warrant," he complains fussily, "you're trespassing. The Senator isn't answering any questions or receiving any guests."

"I don't have any questions," Beckett replies confidently. "I have a piece of information for the Senator."

"I'll relay it to him," Slick replies, still blocking the door.

"You're wasting my time," Beckett growls, treating this jackass like she'd treat any other contemptible defense attorney. "You're here because Bracken wants to hear what I have to say. Open the damn door because we both know I'm not talking to anyone but him."

Scowling, Slick grudgingly opens the door, admitting her into a beautiful foyer. A tasteful chandelier illuminates the walnut furniture and bannister, while the checkerboard marble floor is just worn enough to be both formal and comfortable. And someone must've hijacked a florists van, as lovely bouquets adorn every flat surface. Just like a funeral, Beckett lets herself think, wearing grim smile.

"No weapons," Slick says, stepping toward her.

"You try to touch me or my weapon and you'll wish I'd used it on you," she promises, standing her ground and staring at Slick. When he locks up in the face of this threat, she rolls her eyes in disdain while tapping her foot. "Wasting more time?"

Relenting again and realizing exactly how much credibility he has after capitulating in another standoff, Slick doesn't even grumble as he spins in place, washing his hands of this whole visit. Beckett follows him through a receiving room that looks like it was taken straight out of a manual for DC power decorating – overstuffed leather sofas, a plush, vintage Axminster rug, brass fixtures, and more flowers.

They walk through the receiving room and into a kitchen, where Bracken sits at the head of the kitchen table while surrounded by suited men. Crows, Beckett thinks as she looks at them with their dark, beady eyes and dark, shiny suits. Here to feast on carrion. And what do you call a group of crows? A murder. How appropriate.

Slick rounds the table and bends between Bracken and his right-hand advisor, each of them listening to his whispered explanation. He straightens after his brief explanation, stepping back and standing at attention near the wall. Not even important enough to warrant a seat at the table, Beckett thinks as she smirks at him, knowing her observation is understood as Slick flushes and looks at his feet.

"Well?" Bracken's right-hand man prompts. "You had an important message for the Senator?"

Now that she's here, Beckett's shocked to find that she's enjoying this confrontation far more than she should. Word about the _Ledger's_ pending story on Bracken's financing must've leaked already. Because she's standing in the control room in Chernobyl, the bridge of the Exxon Valdez. The smell of panic and desperation chokes the room. The advisors look like they've crossed the tipping point, worried more about saving themselves than their liege. Behold your crumbling empire, she thinks savagely, grinning again. Bracken's advisor narrows his eyes in reaction to her smile, and he prompts her again. But she'll stand here and enjoy the scene until Bracken speaks.

Which Bracken knows. She can see it on his face as he looks up at her, this demon. For several moments they simply stare at each other. Bracken finally looks away, glancing down at some of the papers before him. "Yes, Detective?" he asks, gesturing to the paperwork to emphasize that he has matters waiting for his attention.

Only two words, but they're enough. It's not like she has more than a handful herself. "I know what you did," she declares, voice clear and head high. "I _know_. So, as your walls crumble around you, as your friends scurry for cover," she says as she looks around the room in disdain at those who are probably billing Bracken thousands of dollars per hour for their advice, "as your 'business associates' decide whether they'd be better off without you, I want you to think about that. We both know where this started and we both know where it will end."

"Now, wait just a minute…," one of the men around the table objects as he tries to rise from his seat, but he's cut off.

"You don't know _anything_ ," Bracken growls, making a flitting gesture with the back of his hand to show how little he thinks of Beckett's words. "You don't _know_ anything and you can't _prove_ anything."

Suddenly appreciating Montgomery's decision more than she thought possible, Beckett reveals another smile. "I don't need to prove anything. I'm not here to arrest you, Bracken. I'm here to enjoy the show, to sit back and watch while more and more information leaks to the press. I wonder what topic'll be next," she ponders in delight.

Pretending as if she was hoping someone would make a suggestion, she looks around the room before continuing. "But that's just me," she says as she pivots to square her body to the one attorney who looks like he's thinking about rising to his feet, just in case he decides to do something stupid. "I enjoy reading about this kind of scandal. I admit," she says with a casual shrug, "not everyone likes this kind of story. In fact," she promises, voice growing low and dangerous, "some people will avoid stories like yours. Some people will go to incredible lengths to stop them altogether."

"Get out," Bracken growls, struggling to his feet. " _Get out_!"

One of the advisors makes the remarkably poor decision to reach for Beckett's arm to escort her from the premises. Knowing that physical violence would lead to reports she'd rather avoid, she has her weapon in hand before he can blink. She leaves it at her side, but her message is received clearly as no one escorts her to the door.

She's on the first step when her ride pulls up to the curb, doors unlocking with an audible click. Opening the rear door, she looks back at the brownstone to see several faces looking out the window at her, including the one of them who matters most. Shocked at how fervently she wants to take a bow or do something else as a parting shot, Beckett controls herself and slips into the back seat, drawing the door closed behind her.

"Once around the park, mum?" Castle asks in a horrible British accent, reaching for levity even though his own stress is apparent in his posture.

"Let's get out of here, Castle," she replies instead, finally exhaling and letting her head fall back against the headrest.

The ride to the precinct is largely quiet, as is their transition back to Beckett's cruiser. It's not until they're back on the road to the loft that she reaches out and grabs his hand.

"Thank you," she whispers, voice still cracking. "I know it was dangerous, but I needed to do that. After spending so many years hunting for him, I needed him to know that he didn't get away with it."

"I understand," Castle replies seriously, though his lips quirk afterward as he remembers their previous use of the word. "Was it enough?"

"Yes," she answers, squeezing his hand before breaking their clasp to have both hands on the wheel. "If he goes now, I can live with it. Might be easiest if he does, especially for dad," she confesses, thinking of her father and hoping that he's enjoying his time up at the cabin.

"We'll be there for him, either way," Castle promises. His sweet offer brings tears to her eyes as she reaches out for him again, unable to avoid touching him in the face of his steadfast support.

It's not until they're parked in Castle's spot, vacant after he put the Mercedes in a long-term lot to clear a place for her, that they can indulge in a long, stress-relieving hug. Beckett's not sure how long they stand there together, embracing each other in a drab parking garage next to her car, but she doesn't care. Today's been marked by such emotional highs that she unabashedly takes some time to just relax and connect with her partner.

Finally, Castle spurs them to movement, collecting her luggage from the trunk of the cruiser. It takes only a raised eyebrow for him to hand one of the bags to her. That leaves each of them with a free hand to link with the other.

Eduardo's delight at seeing her luggage is unmistakable. All she can do is offer a blushing smile in return. It's Castle, surprisingly, who takes a more serious approach. Informing the doorman about a heightened security concern, he recommends more vigilance and possibly additional staff. They discuss protocols briefly, until Castle agrees to call the security company for further discussions.

"Rick," Beckett says quietly as they await the elevator, but he tries to anticipate her distress.

"Sorry, Kate," he says contritely. "I hope his happiness at seeing you here isn't embarrassing."

"I'm not embarrassed," she says, reaching out to hold his hand again right in view of the security desk. Pulling him into the elevator, she releases the handle of her suitcase and wraps him in a hug instead. Only aiming for a quick embrace, she's surprised when they reach his floor and she hasn't explained herself yet. Although, this might present a nice opportunity.

As they exit the elevator and walk toward his door, she returns to her earlier comment. "When we were downstairs, I was just going to say that I don't want Martha or Alexis to hear me sneaking through your home to get to your bedroom."

Bless his heart, he hides his disappointment well. "There's no rush, Beckett," he assures her as he unlocks the door and holds it wide for her, "I understand."

Stopping next to him on her way through the door, she pauses to rub his cheek and offer a sweet kiss. "No, I don't think you do," she disagrees before walking through the door and carrying her suitcase towards his bedroom.

Martha, who'd been waiting for their arrival, quickly reaches out and touches Alexis' arm, urging the young woman to not interrupt the scene unfolding before them, unnoticed in their seats at the kitchen island.

With both eyebrows perched high, Castle trails after Beckett, pulling her other suitcase along with him. "Kate?" he asks, wary of drawing the wrong conclusion.

"It this okay?" she asks with a lovely blush as she pauses at the door to the office antechamber to his bedroom.

"Wild and reckless?" he asks with a smile, drawing close enough to her to offer another kiss. "Come on in," he invites. "I'll give you the tour," he offers with an eyebrow waggle that prompts a tension-breaking huff. Within moments, the only sound is that of Castle's bedroom door closing.

"Come, darling," Martha says in a stage whisper while she stands and offers an elbow to her granddaughter. "Let's reconsider our dinner plans to afford your father and Katherine some privacy."

"A housewarming present for Kate?" Alexis suggests while smiling wide.

"Precisely," Martha agrees, patting her hand. "Finally!"

* * *

"You're not going in to the precinct today?" Castle asks, finally breaking. It's been a fantastic morning, starting with an aerobic awakening and following with a leisurely breakfast with Alexis before she left for school. Since then, Beckett's showed no signs of leaving the loft. Castle kept catching her wearing a mischievous or smug look, but she'd demurred every time he asked about it. Now, with his own deadline looming, he finally understands what's going on. "So, Kate, would you care to accompany me this morning?"

"Oh, you have an appointment?" she asks with a raised brow and a smirk. "Let me check my _calendar_ ," she emphasizes with a perfectly straight face.

He might play the fool, but Castle's smart enough to limit the damage. Throwing his hands up, he capitulates. "I surrender. Will you please accompany me to the photo shoot? I would've asked, but it sounded like Montgomery's replacement can't do anything without you around to hold his hand." Noticing that she's not quite buying it, he offers up everything. "I was hoping to surprise you."

"That's sweet," she answers as she approaches his seat at the table and rubs his check. Until she changes the motion and delivers a few light taps. "As long as you weren't trying to ditch me to hang out with some models." Pinning his denial behind his lips with a finger, she smiles to let him know that she's just teasing.

"Acting-Captain Murray's doing fine," Beckett continues, a smile revealing her pleasure at his assertion of her place at the precinct. "He's not expecting me this morning. It's easy to skip class when you have a note from the mayor," she chuckles, her laugh drawing out at Castle's look of surprise.

"Bob's behind this?" he asks, running a hand through his hair.

"We've got to get you back where you belong," Beckett answers smugly. "Now, don't you need to get cleaned up for your big session? You're looking a little slow on the uptake this morning, Castle. I'd better lend you a hand," she offers, removing his coffee from his hand, helping him stand, then leading him into the bathroom.

"I might need more help," he pushes his luck as she walks towards the door of the master bathroom.

"Of course you do," she replies, closing the door while remaining on this side of it. "Time to remind you that your days of chasing after models are long behind you." Her casual disrobing couldn't really be called a striptease, except that she totally stripped and even more totally teased, Castle thinks, to the extent that he can think. Locked in place and watching Beckett enter the shower, he can only manage a gulping swallow when she looks over her shoulder and whispers, "You coming, Castle?"

More than an hour later (and a little bit late, thanks to a longer-than-expected shower), they're walking into the modeling agency, hands at their sides but twitching occasionally as if desperate to connect of their own volition. They're barely through the door before the busty receptionist is fawning over Castle and escorting him back to the warehouse studio. She ignores Beckett's presence, even though Castle had reached out for her hand as if a drowning man grasping for a life preserver even before the SS Chesty approached.

"Ricky!" they hear in stereo just as the receptionist reluctantly takes her leave (but not before stroking Castle's bicep, Beckett's quick to notice). Heaving a sigh, Castle slowly turns in place and releases a low groan that has Beckett smiling again as he recognizes the two women approaching them. Of all the rotten luck and coincidences, he thinks. Who'd have thought that the FDNY would contract out to the same agency that Fred's company uses?

"Hello, ladies," Castle greets warmly (though not genuinely, as only Beckett notices) as the women arrive, turning his head to receive their greeting kisses on the cheek while still holding tight to Beckett's hand, "it's nice to see you again. Let me introduce my friend," he suggests smoothly. "Skye with an 'e' and Raine with an 'e,'" he says while nodding to each of the women he met at the Aegis party weeks ago, "please meet Kate, also with an 'e.'"

Beckett manages to maintain her poker face again, though her grip on Castle's hand conveys her amusement.

"Huh," says Raine, after a confused look at Skye. "I thought Kate had an 'a.'"

Skye looks equally confused, until her expression lightens with an epiphany. "It must be 'Keet,'" she deduces, following her friend's logic. "Cool name!"

Blessedly, Castle and Beckett are spared the need to respond when someone calls his name from across the room. Apologizing for the need to depart, Castle maneuvers them away from the models, both of them stifling themselves in the name of politeness. Their short walk brings them to the woman who called them over, who has her back turned to them as she works with her camera lenses on the worktable. Based on her stylish bohemian clothes, lithe figure, and asymmetric haircut, she's probably someone who started as a model before moving behind the camera. As she turns to face them, Castle notes her beauty, but that's not what confirms his suspicion.

This time, it's Beckett who releases the low groan as the photographer turns to her rather than Castle.

"Well, well, well," the photographer releases with a smile. "If it isn't Katie Beckett, the one who got away. Are you here with this strapping lad, or are you looking to get back in the business?"

Blushing furiously, Beckett risks a sidelong glance at Castle, which is a big mistake. He glows with the knowledge that fate has conspired deliver him a fond wish and serious dirt on his partner, all wrapped up with a bow.

"Hello, Becca," she manages to emit, bracing herself to address this situation and limit the amount of fodder with which Castle can later tease her. "Rick Castle, best-selling author, current member of the FDNY and soon to return to the NYPD, please meet Rebecca Luna. I knew Becca as a model, though it looks like she might've expanded her horizons."

"Pleased to meet you," Becca says as she gives Castle a welcome hug and kiss, "and good to see you again," she says as she gives Beckett the same attention. "I'm mostly behind the camera these days," Becca says lightly. "You remember how predatory the men were," she prefaces while Beckett reaches out to stroke Castle's forearm and erase the tension that had already appeared. "Well, I finally did something about it. It's been a long fight and there are still more pigs than professionals, but it's a start."

"Thank you," Beckett says genuinely, offering her old colleague another hug and shocking Castle in the process. "I imagine you don't hear that often enough, but you should." Noticing Becca's look, she nods. "That was a big part of why I left. Not all of it, but a lot of it."

Becca nods and looks wistful for a moment, before returning her attention to Castle. "What are you doing here?" she asks, laughing at his look of surprise. "Sue!" she calls out, getting a raised hand from someone across the room. "Go see Sue, she'll talk makeup and hair. Then, dressing room two has some clothes. Get changed and hit the weight bench outside the changing rooms. We need you sweaty and puffed up. Work the upper body, mostly pecs and arms. About 80 to 90 percent of your max, slow reps. We don't want you hurt, just pumped up."

"Mind if I catch up, Castle?" Beckett asks, getting a nod in reply. He leans forward to plant a quick kiss on her cheek, but she turns her head to meet him full on. Then, with a push, she starts him on his way to Sue. After watching him make his way over, she turns back to her friend.

"So, you and Rick Castle," Becca states, not asking for or awaiting confirmation. "Nice catch."

"Becca, it's not like that…"

"Oh, stop," Becca replies quickly, turning back to her workbench. "He's supposed to get puffed up, not you. I know you're not like that. If you were, you wouldn't have left. Just accept the compliment. It looks like he makes you happy."

"Very," she confirms.

"Good idea to accompany him," Becca continues, nodding toward some of the models. "You remember what it can be like around here. And he's _cute_."

"I don't have to worry about you, too, do I?" Beckett asks with a raised brow, mostly joking but still willing to test whether her friend's explanation about becoming a photographer was true or whether she's just balancing the harassment and exploitation.

"I can appreciate the human body without forcing myself on it," Becca replies without humor, turning back to her array of camera gear. "Besides, not everything has changed since we last worked together – I'm still just as likely to hit on you as him," she offers as she looks over her shoulder and gives a wink. "Of course, if you're together I could just…"

"No, thanks," Beckett says quickly, surprising herself with a laugh. "He's already got a friend who generates all kinds of offers like that," she replies, thinking back to her first meeting with Fred and what information she suspects was withheld. "We're fine as a pair."

"Your loss," Becca says with a shrug, finishing the process of lining up her cameras and lenses on the table.

Time for a new topic, Beckett thinks, as she walks beside Becca on her check around the warehouse studio. As frequently happens, the initial thrill of meeting someone she knew earlier in her life has started to fade as the reasons they weren't closer friends start to come back to her. Plus, she knew Becca before college and left modeling shortly thereafter, before her mother was killed. The last thing she wants is Becca straying onto family matters while struggling for a discussion topic.

"Is anyone else from the old crowd still around?" she asks, hoping to divert Becca.

"The old crowd?" she laughs. "You were only part of that crowd for a few months."

"Which is like half a decade in modeling time," Beckett ripostes, getting a chuckle.

"True. Which is why pretty much everyone else is gone," Becca admits. "This is a young person's game."

"You're doing well," Beckett compliments, waving around the studio through which they're walking. "I've seen your work," she embellishes, recalling how delighted models were to talk and hear about themselves. "I'm a little surprised you're working a city contract for the FDNY calendar."

"Are you kidding?" Becca asks, turning to scrutinize Beckett. "This is a perk – I ask for the contract. Pisses off the young ones something fierce. But I do it for nothing and take the sweet tax write-off. Plus," she says, leaning in closer to Beckett to afford some small amount of privacy, "Just because I'm a vegetarian, it doesn't mean I'm opposed to some beefcake." She punctuates her statement by nodding at Castle, who's unbuttoning his shirt as Sue hovers around him, prepping him for his shoot. And while Sue's perusal looks professional, Beckett's still glad that Becca led them to this corner of the studio at the right time.

"Good lord, woman, get a manicure," Becca chides, startling Beckett from her vigilance.

"What?" she asks, looking at her nails before following Becca's line of sight back to Castle, who's turned to face Sue. Feeling a blush crawl up her neck, Beckett takes in the scratches that criss-cross his back. Thank God he's still wearing his pants, she thinks, recalling their shower activities. Because if his back looks like that, then his ass…

"Thank goodness for Photoshop," she manages to offer with a shrug, trying to regain her composure for this conversation.

"Why hide it? You've been gone too long," Becca replies, shaking her head but keeping her eyes on Castle. "That's _hot_."

It's another good warning, one that spurs Beckett into motion before others notice. Bidding goodbye the Becca, she rejoins Castle, who scores some serious boyfriend points with his obvious delight at having her back at his side even in the presence of distractions. And if that wasn't enough, getting to be his spotter while he followed Becca's directions and spent some time on the weight bench certainly revved her up a bit. By the time he's in front of Becca's camera (wearing nothing but his work pants, suspenders, and helmet), Beckett's happily daydreaming about calling in sick for the afternoon.

For all her other characteristics, Becca's a good photographer. She keeps Castle moving, running through different poses and scenes. Beckett's annoyed that a small crowd has formed, not all of whom (like Raine and Skye) need to be here. Happily, though, another two firefighters (one man and one woman) show up mid-shoot to prepare for their session, which draws off some of the observers.

"Will you do me a favor?" Becca asks, sidling up next to Beckett after sending Castle for a quick outfit change. "He's very good at this. I'd say he's a natural except he's probably got some experience from his writing promotions. But he's too in control," Becca huffs, frustrated with her attempt to describe what she wants.

"His eyes are smiling," Beckett offers. "He's in on the joke."

"Exactly," Becca snaps her fingers. "That's fine, it works for books. But I want him more engaged. Less cultured. _Feral_. I want him stalking the camera, not laughing at it. Which brings me back to the favor," she says as she nods at the camera, then at Beckett.

" _What_?!" Beckett squeaks. "I'm a cop, not a photographer."

"And I'm a model, yet I can take some pictures," Becca answers with a shrug. "Look, I've already got some good shots I can use for the calendar. But I think we could get something great. Well, not 'we,' but 'you.'" Beckett still looks wary, but her expression is softening, so Becca moves in to close the sale. "Just walk up to him, whisper something in his ear that unhinges him, then step back and snap away. If you don't get anything useful, no big deal."

Beckett hasn't answered, but Becca knows she's got her convinced. Reaching into a pocket, she pulls out a business card and hands it to her reluctant apprentice. "I'll clear the area. Just get him set, then I'll hand off the camera and shoo away the onlookers. Call my cell when you're done."

This last offer overcomes Beckett's reticence, even invigorates her a bit. "Deal," she says, reaching into her own pocket and pulling out a business card. Using a pen to strike out part of the card, she replaces her precinct email address with her personal one. Don't want this going on the NYPD servers, she thinks, before handing the edited card to Becca. "But I want copies. Just for personal use," she offers with a sly look. "Trust me, I won't do anything with them that'll undercut your sales."

"I should ask for his consent," Becca laughs with a nod, "but if you do this right he'll say 'yes' to anything a few minutes from now. So, you ready?"

Becca gets the next shot framed up but nods to Beckett before she takes any pictures. With a predatory grin, Beckett nods back before swaying up to a confused fireman who's started to suspect that something's amiss.

His eyebrows nearly launch off his head when Beckett doesn't halt her approach until she's prowled into his personal space, stopping herself by placing a hand against his chest and leaning in close to whisper in his ear. "Rick," she whispers breathily, while she runs her guilty fingernails lightly around his chest, careful not to leave any marks. "We've never talked about your tattoo," she confides, her fingers deftly skimming across his chest and up his arm to swirl around the topic of discussion, "other than when you told us it was an initiation ritual. When I was modeling," she leads in, pausing to let those words sink in while nipping at the rim of his ear, "there was an initiation that I avoided. But now that you're a model, too, I was thinking that we could share our rites of passage."

Well, Becca did say she wanted him sweaty. And unhinged. He's certainly there, as long as he doesn't pass out right here.

"As soon as we take a few more pictures, you're going to head back to changing room two," she says simply, pulling herself away from his ear to look directly into his eyes, which are so dilated they're nearly black. "Where I'll be waiting," she promises, turning to return to Becca but watching him over her shoulder to maintain eye contact as long as possible.

"Good Christ, I think you might've overdone it," Becca marvels as she practically shoves the camera at Beckett. "Hurry! Before he combusts!" With that parting shot, Becca's already clearing the area, though neither Beckett nor Castle pay her much attention. Despite the limited blood flow to his brain, Castle's realized that this is now a private session, with the object of his desire right there before him.

"Come on, Rick," Beckett growls, her own breathing shallow and eyes dilated. " _Be my muse_."

* * *

Ten minutes later, Becca's starting to reconsider her plan. Wondering if she can check in on Katie and Castle without learning something new and shocking even after her own long, sordid career, her cell phone rings.

"Camera's on the table," she hears someone (Katie?) mumble before the line goes dead.

Smirking about the likely shenanigans going on in some dark corner of the studio, Becca's seized by an unfamiliar spasm of compassion as she thinks about the young woman who modeled only long enough to buy her dream bike before showing the wisdom to get out. Instructing her staff to stay behind, she ventures back into the photo area to make sure the coast is clear.

The camera's on the table, but there's no one in sight when she returns. She's just about to recall her staff and get ready for the next shoot when she hears some crashing and stumbling from the direction of the changing rooms. Deciding that there are limits to her emotionalism (but not her curiosity), she drifts in that direction.

The low, throaty, feminine moan she hears is erotic enough to freeze her in her tracks and get her own pulse racing. A few more thumps and even a clanging (there goes the weight bench) provide auditory clues as to their progress through the back hall. Wiping her brow, Becca's not sure if she's relieved or disappointed that they must be about to reach the relative privacy of the changing rooms.

Deciding they must've reached their destination, Becca turns to retrieve her staff when her progress is again halted, this time by a loud, long tearing sound.

" _Damn_ , Beckett," she hears Castle growl, apparently impressed and no longer encumbered by whatever article of clothing got in his partner's way.

"Off, off, off, Castle!" is the urgent reply. "Where's your back? I think I missed a spot."

* * *

"Alexis?" Beckett asks, returning her missed call after her meeting with Acting-Captain Murray. "You called?"

"I'm sorry to bother you at work," she starts to explain, but her tone's already seized Beckett's attention.

"Alexis, what's wrong?" she worries, looking at the clock and noticing that Ryan and Esposito are casting her curious looks. "Are you safe?" she asks, terrified that she might've provoked Bracken into a move against Castle's family.

"There's a fire," Alexis prefaces as a strange keening noise erupts from Beckett. The cold hand of fear that'd seized her heart when thinking about Bracken has spread throughout her chest, leaving her frozen and fearful. No! she screams in her mind. Not now! We've just started to figure it all out. I won't lose him…

"Kate!" Alexis nearly yells into the phone, drawing Beckett's attention back to the phone. As her attention refocuses, she notices Ryan standing beneath the bullpen's television set, flipping between news channels.

"Dad's okay," Alexis assures her. "At least, I think he is. I haven't heard from him, which means he's involved. But the TV said there's no casualties, and he's not even supposed to be off-shift until 6:00."

"Oh. Okay," Beckett says, calming herself with effort as Ryan alights on a channel that shows the three-alarm blaze at an industrial complex near the East River. "Thanks for telling me, Alexis. I'd just come out of a meeting and had no idea."

"I wasn't just calling about that," Alexis confesses. "I was calling to see when you can come home. It'll be easier to wait with you here," she trails off shyly.

"I'm leaving now," Beckett answers immediately over Alexis' weak objections, already powering down her computer. Murray can handle things himself for the rest of the afternoon. And if not, someone else can help him.

Though she hasn't discussed it with them (Lanie probably has), the boys seem to know that something's going on between her and Castle. She hasn't even finished grabbing her bag when Ryan steps next to her chair while Esposito's calling the elevator for her.

" _Go_ ," Ryan urges. "We'll talk to Murray. Just go."

"Thank you, Kevin," she surprises him with a highly uncharacteristic kiss to the cheek as she blows out of her desk. The elevator door is opening as she approaches, so she doesn't break stride to thank Esposito, just returning his fist bump on the way into the car.

It's not until she's halfway to the loft that she realizes Alexis asked her when she could come "home." She didn't flinch, didn't evade, didn't run. Her only thought had been to protect the people she cares about.

She shocks Alexis by wrapping her in a hug as she enters the loft, holding tight and letting some tears leak out. "Any word?"

"Nothing specific," Castle's daughter says while pulling Beckett to the sofa in front of the television. The women collapse onto the sofa while still holding hands, though Beckett soon decides to put her arm around the young woman's shoulders instead.

"Does Martha know?" Beckett asks as they watch the images on TV.

"She's in class," Alexis replies, blushing. "I didn't even think about calling her until after I talked to you," she confesses, and Beckett feels her heart clench again at the thought that Alexis reached out to her for comfort, "and then I decided I didn't want to worry her. She might not even need to cancel her evening plans."

Humbled by this young woman, Beckett drops a kiss on her temple before turning back to the TV and letting their heads rest together. It's a strange vigil they hold, a requiem for an industrial complex. But as long as the crawl at the bottom of the screen continues to report no fatalities, they remain hopeful.

Many minutes later, they're both startled by buzzing cellphones, separating awkwardly to rifle through pockets to find the devices. Beckett manages first, unlocking the device to see a text from Castle.

 **I'm sorry if I worried you, but I'm safe. Will be a few hours late. Love you both.**

"Both?" Alexis asks shyly, holding up her phone to show Beckett that they received the same message.

"Is that okay?" Beckett asks, looking into the eyes that look so much like her father's.

Alexis' reply is to wrap Beckett in a hug that's even more fierce than the one they shared when Beckett arrived.

"You know what Lanie pointed out to me recently, rather unkindly?" Beckett asks Alexis. "That I'm not especially gifted in the kitchen. Would you be interested in helping me? Maybe we could make something to welcome your father home?"

A few hours later, an exhausted Castle slots his key into the loft's door. Despite his fatigue, he enters quietly, hoping that the ladies of the loft are asleep, preparing for a day that's got to be better than today. After entering, the first thing he notices is the darkness, only a few dim lights providing illumination. But even as his eyes scan the loft, his nose draws him toward the kitchen. There's a tray of fresh cookies on the island, but the air smells of something savory. His stomach growls ferociously, reminding him that it's been a long, trying time since he's last eaten.

Oddly, the promise of delicious food actually pushes him out of the kitchen. As hungry as he may be, he's more desperate to see the people who made a meal for him than he is to eat. He's trying to decide which bedroom to check first when a faint sound draws his attention to the couch. Creeping to the lounge, he nearly stumbles when he sees the scene that awaits him. Beckett's sitting on the couch, head back and dozing lightly. Alexis is prone on the couch, napping with her head in Beckett's lap, the detective's arm draped across the young woman to protect and comfort even in sleep.

Suddenly invigorated, Castle quietly extracts his phone, silences it, then takes a few pictures before pocketing it again. Kneeling down in front of Beckett, he can't bring himself to disrupt the scene. He's entranced by the possibility that he might've actually found the person for whom he's been searching for so long, the woman who completes his family, completes his heart.

Despite his silence, Beckett seems to know that he's near. Her eyes open as she tilts her head forward, though she's careful not to jostle Alexis. Instead, she drinks him in, as happy to see him as he was to see her. They commune silently for several long moments, until Beckett reaches for him.

"Welcome home, Castle."

* * *

A/N: Big news! Castle Fic Stream Con starts later today and continues through tomorrow. In case you haven't seen this, writers are going to be available to discuss their stories and answer questions on a Twitch livestream (for more information, look for castleficstream on tumblr or at castleficstream on twitter). For those of you who, like me, are not the masters of all types of social media, send me a PM. There is a fantastic lineup of distinguished writers, and one of them is sneaking me in! GeekMom's been trying (generously and with success limited by her student's aptitude) to get me functional on social media. Her forbearance extended to the ficstream, so I'll be joining her session tomorrow (6:00 Eastern on Saturday)! Certainly check the schedule, there is a really good group of participating authors. My kids might have to fend for themselves this weekend so I can catch more sessions…

One last note, if you're still here. I came to Castle fanfic late and in many ways still have some classics to read. But there are amazing new authors, too. If you're not reading Secret by Father Vengeance, you're missing out. This is what happens when a true writer has some fun.

Late edit: it turns out FV isn't new to writing, just new to me. How great it is to still be discovering great writers. Go check out his story.


	17. Chapter 17

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional.

* * *

 **Week Thirteen (part three)**

" _So_."

Beckett peeks over the top of the diner's breakfast menu, but it's no good – the flimsy tagboard with peeling laminate offers no protection from her friend's glare. As she expected, Lanie saw right through her, knew at first sight that things had changed. Or maybe it was smell, not sight. Now that she and Castle have begun to explore other aspects of their relationship, she's probably throwing off enough pheromones to cause noses all around the diner to twitch.

"So, I'm, uh, staying at the loft again," Beckett preemptively confesses.

" _And_?"

"And I brought enough luggage for an extended stay," Beckett offers, still hiding behind the menu but casting glances around the restaurant to ensure no one's eavesdropping.

" _And_?"

Damn. She's not letting up, Beckett realizes. We'll be here all day, hearing nothing but 'and, and, and?' Unless Lanie can be led down a different path…

"And when Alexis called to ask me when I was coming home, I didn't think twice before running to meet her at the loft," Beckett confesses.

Reaching across the table to grasp her friend's hand, Lanie's demeanor softens. "That's sweet," she says gently. Before squeezing her hand while adopting another stern look. " _And?!_ "

"And I'm not sleeping upstairs this time," Beckett caves, but not before ensuring that the server isn't about to arrive this time. "We're together," she offers in simple confession, placing her menu down to let her friend see she's not hiding from this conversation, from this relationship.

"And by 'together' you mean…?"

Not even Castle's driven her to the point of knocking her forehead against a table, but that's where Beckett finds herself now. Tilting her head back, she can't help but show some of her exasperation.

"We're _together_ ," she explains with as much patience as she can muster, "in every way that matters. Every way you can imagine." Then, noticing Lanie's brow lift, she decides to toss a few crumbs. "And in a few ways I hadn't imagined," she finishes with a little eyebrow waggle.

Lanie's guffaw is all the louder for her effort to contain it with a stern look. She dissolves into hooting laughter, which manages to get Beckett chuckling, too. During this safe interval, they receive their coffees and place their orders, still chuckling as the waitress walks away.

"So, tell me all about…," Lanie starts to ask before Beckett answers.

"No," she says, shaking her head slowly. "I'm sorry, Lanes. I know I owe you for helping me get here, but that's… _special_ ," she says with a shrug after searching for the right word. "It's just taken us so long to get here that I need to guard it carefully."

Lanie, who'd initially looked incensed at her friend's reserve, sits back to think about whether this is something she's going to accept. "A few questions," she proposes with a smile. When Beckett looks exasperated, she offers a kind reminder. "I'm a brat, remember?"

"No kidding," Beckett laughs, taking a sip of coffee. "You can ask. No promises on any answers, though."

"We'll see," Lanie says gleefully as she rubs her hands together and thinks about her questions. "Okay. Okay. So, I take it he, ah, performed well?"

"Not wasting any time there, are you Lanes?" Beckett asks with a blush, switching from coffee to water. Pausing to consider a reply that's both honest and doesn't unduly encourage Lanie's inquisition, she quirks her lips when she realizes Castle's already given her an answer. "He's _extraordinary_ ," she whispers coarsely.

This time it's Lanie reaching for the water.

"Okay. So, tell me if the rumors…"

" _No_ ," Beckett answers resolutely. "Next question."

"C'mon Kate," Lanie wheedles. "Just an approximation." She knows from her friend's expression that there'll be no capitulation on this front, though. Lanie lets it go lest Beckett decide she's done with all of the questions. Time for a softball to keep her talking. "I take it his redheads know about what's going on."

"They do," Beckett answers softly, still marveling at how quickly she's been adopted, about how carefully and completely they've welcomed her into the household. "They've been wonderful."

"What next?" Lanie asks, catching Beckett by surprise. "Is he coming back to the precinct?"

Beckett's surprised by Lanie's question, until she remembers that she and Castle have been cloistered away since their big discussion of the future. "He's coming back," she says with satisfaction. "He finishes at the firehouse this week. Then he's coming back to the precinct. Well," she admits with a wink, "after our trip to the Hamptons this weekend."

"Yeah, _I'm_ the brat," Lanie replies in a grumble. " _Yes, Lanie, I'll have my lover there to dote on me at work, after he ravishes me at his beach house for a few days_ ," she says in a falsetto approximation of Beckett's voice, which isn't exactly flattering. "Rough life there, Detective Beckett."

"I'll manage," she says with another wink, drawing a parallel to another conversation they had weeks ago in much less hopeful circumstances.

"Too bad he's leaving the firehouse, though," Lanie laments. "That carwash was _fun_ ," she purrs. "I was kind of looking for an excuse to visit him there."

"Well," Beckett offers, "it won't be at the firehouse, but there's a going-away party for Castle at the Haunt on Friday that'll have plenty of burly colleagues there to send off Mr. April. Castle thought you might like to attend?"

" _Wait_ ," Lanie says, thrusting out an open palm. "Just wait. You can't just throw all that stuff together and drop it on me. There's a party with firemen on Friday?" Lanie asks, addressing the item of most immediacy. "What time?!"

"Six," Beckett laughs at the eagerness in her friend's tone. "But it probably won't crank up for an hour or so, following the shift change."

"I'm _there_ ," Lanie replies happily, "and bless that man of yours for thinking of me. But what was that bit about Mr. April?"

"Castle's gonna be in the FDNY calendar," she replies with a blush. "Already had the photoshoot and everything."

Lanie looks oddly at Beckett, convinced that this is some kind of joke. Seeing the flushed cheeks, though, she starts down a different line of thought. "Look at you," she marvels, making Beckett blush even more. "Miss kick-ass, independent woman is all twitterpated with her man-candy! So, what's it like dating a model?" she asks wickedly.

"Shut up," Beckett groans. Then, looking around quickly, she dissolves into smiling giggles herself. "It's _fantastic_ ," she confesses.

"I bet," Lanie replies with a perched brow, looking a little jealous again. "So, any more earthquakes?"

Knowing she should refuse to answer this question, Beckett's feeling so giddy that she just can't help herself. "There might've been a reenactment," she says gleefully, watching Lanie's look become one of certain jealousy. "And this time the earth _did_ move."

"Now you shut up," Lanie grouses. "New world record holder for the fastest time from dejected mess to gloating, oversexed braggart. You're probably just making this up to tease me," she pouts.

"Making it up?" Beckett bites, while Lanie hides her triumphant smile. "I'll show you making it up. Here," she says, pulling her phone out of her pocket. "I took some pictures at his photoshoot, and not all of them with their camera," she adds devilishly. Flipping through her photos, she finds one suitable for sharing (barely) and proudly holds the phone toward Lanie.

" _Damn_ ," Lanie gulps. "They can't put that in a calendar. That's even better than in the hospital."

"I know, right?" she laughs in reply, distracted by her recollection of that first awkward meeting with Castle after the fire.

Taking advantage of Beckett's woolgathering, Lanie darts out a hand, quickly flicking a finger across the screen of Beckett's phone and advancing to the next picture. "Aha!" she cries in delight as Beckett whips the phone back almost immediately, but still too late. " _There's_ his fire pole!"

"Ah, should I come back?" their waitress asks, her radiant blush (which almost matches Beckett's) proving that she overheard the comment and the context. Ignoring her friend's humiliated groan, Lanie waves the waitress forward.

"No, now's perfect," she says, pushing her coffee mug to the side to make room for her breakfast plate. "I'm starving and I know my friend here needs some protein."

"I am going to kill you," Beckett vows as the waitress departs, cheeks still flushed even as Lanie happily chomps into her omelet. "You do realize that soon we'll have embarrassed ourselves at every restaurant in the city?"

"Who's embarrassed?" Lanie asks with perched brows. "I'm not the one who's…"

" _Lanie_!" Beckett cuts her off. "New topic of discussion," she demands. "Or silence. We can do silence."

"No way, girl. You invited me out, so we're gonna talk," she replies with authority. "About your man or about what's going on at the precinct. Pick your poison."

Her reply is to lean back and rummage in her pockets. Lanie's not sure what her friend is up to until Beckett slaps her hand on the tabletop, pulling it away to reveal several coins. "There's a machine outside," she manages to say. "Go get today's _Ledger_ and we'll talk."

Uncertain about whether this is a legitimate suggestion or just a way to get some private time, Lanie shrugs and walks out to the machine, figuring she's good with either answer. Walking back inside to their table, she reads the headlines of today's paper: ' _Senator's Fundraising, Financing Under Investigation_.'

"Oh, look," she says sarcastically as she drops the paper onto their table before taking her seat. "Another corrupt politician. Stop the presses."

"Have you read that article?" Beckett asks, catching Lanie's attention with the seriousness of her look. "Do," she says simply after Lanie shakes her head.

Beckett eats quietly while Lanie scans the article. Her friend looks up and is about to ask a question before she decides to finish the article. Following the page-break, she follows the jump to the article's conclusion before re-folding the newspaper and setting it down.

"Was I reading that for the reference to that guy you shoved into the interrogation glass," she asks following the article's reference to Vulcan Simmons, "or because our corrupt pig of a DA had dirt on the Senator before his accident?"

Both of those aspects of the story were unexpected, Beckett admits to herself. It looks like Montgomery really unloaded, looking to apply more pressure in the hopes of ending his exile quickly. But she's not going to share details with Lanie, not yet. Now it's just time for the big picture. So, instead, she simply shakes her head and points to the paper. "He did it."

When Lanie looks up in confusion, Beckett holds her hand out and waits until Lanie reaches out to meet it. Flipping her friend's hand, Beckett traces the same letters, M-O-M, that Lanie had traced in her palm just days ago.

Lanie looks confused, then fearful. " _No_ ," she whispers. "Not…," she trails off.

Beckett shocks her friend by nodding sadly. "It's how those troubles started," she explains tersely with a nod to the paper. "She was working a case that would've revealed where his money came from."

"Oh, Kate," Lanie shudders, eyes tearing. "How can I help? What can we do?"

Tearing up at her friend's unflinching support even in the face of a fearsome and established adversary, Beckett clings tightly to Lanie's hand. "We can stay safe. We can protect each other."

"What?" Lanie asks in surprise. "You're not going after him?"

Beckett pauses to consider her answer, wanting to include her friend but shield her from details. "Not right now," she says, squeezing Lanie's hand. "We're being careful. He's dangerous," she says with another nod to the paper, "and he also has dangerous friends. Some of whom might not wait for an investigation to play out."

"So this is why you're staying with Castle?" Lanie asks shrewdly.

"In part," Beckett answers honestly. "I went to see Bracken. I had to tell him that I know what he did, just in case it goes sideways from here."

"What were you thinking?" Lanie asks. "You talk about staying safe and you walked up to him and told him you know he's a murderer?!"

Beckett looks around quickly, making sure that they're not being overheard. "Lanes, you've got to stay quiet about this. This goes higher than him, and if his bosses decide to cut their losses with him, they'll hardly care about taking out someone like you or me," she admonishes, her eyes boring into her friend's to drive the point home.

"I want to move on, Lanie," she admits, squeezing her friend's hand again. "I don't think his bosses will let this drag out in public, much less the courts sometime in the future. So, I had to confront him before he's gone. Maybe then mom can rest in peace and I can start to look forward rather than back."

"Seems to me you've already started looking forward," Lanie replies gently, letting her nodding friend know with these kind words that she understands. "Be careful, Kate. Be happy."

* * *

"Thank you so much for your help, Detective Beckett," Acting-Captain Murray says as he rises from his seat behind Montgomery's desk. "I know you've got a full plate, but I really appreciate your guidance in keeping this place running."

"No problem, sir," Beckett says, taking her cue and rising from her chair, turning toward the door and missing Murray's quick efforts to straighten his tie and tug his shirt down to smooth any creases.

Coming around the desk to walk her to the door, Murray reaches for a friendly tone. "It wouldn't be appropriate while I'm here, but I was wondering if maybe once I'm back at my precinct…," he trails off, distracted by the radiant smile blossoming on Beckett's face as she looks out of the office to see Castle sitting in the chair beside her desk. She's so irrationally happy to see him back where he belongs that she stops in place, apparently oblivious to everything else.

Murray's stuttering steps call her back to the present. "I'm sorry, sir, I'm afraid I tuned out there for a moment. What were you saying?"

"Nothing of consequence," he assures her, knowing that any efforts on his part would be futile and awkward. "Thanks again for your help," he says, turning back to his desk after Beckett steps through the doorway.

"What, no coffee?" she says with a smile as she forces herself not to bounce over to Castle. "Have you forgotten how this works?" she laughs. "And what do you think of your new chair? What'd I tell you, Castle? Like before, but better," she assures with a smile.

Her smile falters once she gets a good look at his grave expression, though he tries to adopt a cheery demeanor. "Sorry, Beckett, I can't believe I forgot your coffee. I could make you one," he says with a nod to the break room, "or we could pop out to the café if you have a few minutes." The look on his face clearly suggests that the second option is preferred.

"Hey guys?" Beckett calls out to Ryan and Esposito, both of whom were shamelessly eavesdropping while pretending (pathetically) otherwise. "I'll be back in fifteen, okay? Call me if anything pops."

Not waiting for an answer, Beckett leads Castle to the elevator, both of them acting as normal as possible, with Castle returning the greetings of those who call out to him.

"What's wrong?" Beckett asks as she wraps him in a hug in the empty elevator, not caring a whit about the security camera above them.

"Let's get outside first," he replies calmly, though his voice is tight.

They step apart as the elevator slows. When the doors open, they look as they have in any of the times they'd ridden together in the years before today. But a keen observer would make note of the frequency of the looks that dart between them, the concern each demonstrates for the position of the other. But the hands that fidget to keep themselves from where they'd prefer to be are the biggest giveaway.

Minutes later, they're tucked into an alcove in a coffee shop a block away from the precinct, not even bothering to order. Beckett's about to ask what's going on when Castle pulls out his phone. Attaching headphones that he offers to Beckett, he opens the web browser and starts the live stream.

His heart breaks as he watches his love listen to the news report of Bracken's 'suicide.' He's already listened to the report several times, has it memorized. How the senator was found in his idling car in the townhouse's closed garage, drifting peacefully into a sleep from which he'd never awaken, a copy of the _Ledger_ on the seat beside him. There've been no new developments in the last 45 minutes, so the only change is the slight variations offered by the newscasters as they stall for more information. Castle watches as Beckett's eyes widen and fill with tears that she refuses to let fall. After hearing the report, she tugs at the cord, the earbuds falling haphazardly to the table as she rises.

Castle tries to stand to join her, but is held in place by her hand on his shoulder. Wordlessly, she sits sideways in his lap, lowers her head to the crook of his neck, and lets her tears fall.

After several minutes, a discreet server approaches with a napkin extended. Castle waves off the napkin with a hand that already contains a ten-dollar bill and holds up two fingers, buying coffees he knows they won't drink for the right to sit at the table for a while. The young man nods in understanding, backing away quietly.

Beckett breaks her silence after several more minutes, though she doesn't move from the shelter of Castle's arms even after she accepts his handkerchief. "We should go to the hospital," she says with a voice rough from disuse. "Check on Turner."

" _Coincidentally_ ," Castle says gently in a voice that belies his disbelief, "Turner died right around the same time as Bracken."

"Another 'suicide?'" Beckett asks, clearly showing her doubts about the official story on Bracken.

"Massive pulmonary embolism," he replies, knowing that she's wondering the same thing he is – whether this was a medical development or a clever homicide.

"They're tying off loose ends," Beckett observes, still from the protective cove of his embrace. "You don't think Bracken really killed himself, do you?"

"Maybe. I'm not sure it matters," Castle answers honestly. "To do what he did – I'm sure he knew the stakes, knew the people he was dealing with. And if he didn't, your visit opened his eyes," he adds with a note of pride. "I'm not sure they would've needed to do anything other than say ' _it happens today – either you do it or we do_.' Faced with something like that, he might've gotten in his car by himself. Or maybe he knew what was coming and left on his own terms. Is that suicide?" he asks philosophically.

"I doubt Turner injected an air bubble into his own IV," Beckett notes, though her comment lacks its usual heat after hearing Montgomery's comments about the DA.

"No," Castle admits, "probably not. Still, I don't think I'll lose too much sleep about him."

"That's pretty callous," she answers, and he can hear in her voice that she's thinking about both of them, wondering if they should be more upset.

"Perhaps I should feel bad about not feeling worse for them," Castle offers while nuzzling Beckett. "But the only thing that really bothers me is that they got off easy. They might be dead, but their victims were robbed of their chance to see justice. The women Turner abused won't be sad about his demise, but they didn't get to see justice, just karma."

"I need to tell dad," Beckett agrees, stiffening in Castle's arms. "He has to know. Will…," she trails off until he rubs her back. "Will you come with? Tonight. I should tell him tonight."

"Of course I'll be there," he replies, lightening his tone to make it sound like her question was ridiculous. "And if you think you're getting rid of me today, you're crazy."

That comment forces Beckett to bolt upright in his lap. "You're not supposed to be here! You were supposed to work today! And your quarter isn't done yet," she reminds him.

"Hush," he answers simply, tucking her back in. "What're they gonna do, fire me?" he laughs.

"Castle, you spent twelve weeks as the perfect employee," she grouses. "You can't go out on a sour note."

"I talked to Ben," he assures her. "He doesn't know the details, only that it was an emergency. Sal might be annoyed, but he can…," Castle trails off, unwilling to articulate his exact suggestion for what the Commissioner can do with his discontent. "He can deal with it," he says diplomatically, pulling a huff out of Beckett.

"Thank you," she says as she squeezes him tight, before sitting upright. "We need to get back. I don't need another reason to offend Murray."

"You're already giving him trouble?" Castle laughs. "It's only been a week!"

"Your timing was impeccable," she praises, kissing his cheek. "He was just about to ask me out when I saw you waiting for me."

This time it's Castle who's stiffening in his seat, and not in a playful way. "Relax," Beckett soothes, using a hand to rub his chest. "Having you there meant we didn't even need to talk about it, but we've got nothing to worry about. We're finally together, right?"

"Right," Castle grumbles, still offended but mostly mollified.

"Besides, I'm sure I look like a raccoon now," she complains, dabbing at her eyes. "And I've ruined your shirt. Maybe you should go home and change before you come back to the precinct?" she asks, her reluctance clear.

"As if you could ever look anything less than gorgeous," he replies with a shake of his head. Then, shifting her around on his lap a bit, he manages to reach into the pocket of his blazer. Holding his stuffed fist out to her, he rotates his hand while he opens it to reveal a small collection of her makeup items from the loft. "I made my best guess," he shrugs. "Just because I've got a daughter doesn't mean I know how all this works," he covers for himself, sounding nervous and uncomfortable.

Beckett's not sure if his uncertainty stems from a fear that he overstepped or if it masks his knowledge, since his selections were perfect. "This is exactly what I need," she replies in a loaded voice, letting him know that she wasn't just talking about the items he brought from the loft. "I suppose you have a clean shirt back at the precinct?"

"In my gym bag," he confirms, unsurprised that she figured him out so quickly.

Beckett surprises herself with a chuckle, then manages to slide off his lap and head toward the restroom. While she's occupied, Castle approaches the counter and orders four coffees, figuring the boys could use a thank-you for covering for them. After tipping the thoughtful server generously, he's just finished adding cream and lids to the travel cups when Beckett emerges, looking calm and composed. Until she sees his efforts on her team's behalf, at which points she shakes her head, sidles up next to him and bumps his shoulder. "It's so good to have you back."

* * *

The cemetery is a bold place for a meeting between father and daughter, but perhaps it's appropriate. Castle walks in silence, one hand holding fast to Beckett and the other cradling a fragrant bouquet of lilies. He'd accidentally prompted tears even before they'd left the loft, after the delivery of the flowers shocked Beckett. He'd apologized profusely for his presumption, until Beckett wrapped him tight and murmured "They were her favorite" in his ear. The scene led to his fourth shirt-change of the day. He'd gladly go through his entire wardrobe if it affords her the opportunity to find some peace.

Two men in gray suits and somber demeanors wait on the path ahead. Castle recognizes Beckett's father, which must make the other man his sponsor. Beckett's effort to recall her father to the city for this meeting, and her request that he bring his sponsor, was responsible for the demise of another shirt.

" _Katie_ ," her father sighs into her hair after she lurched the final few steps and stepped into his embrace. They stand huddled together for several minutes, gathering strength for the discussion ahead. Castle and Jim's sponsor stand silent vigil, offering whatever quiet support they can.

Finally, the Becketts separate, with Kate pulling her father over to Castle. "Dad," she says with eyes that are already wet, "I'd like you to meet Rick Castle, the man I love." Having wondered how Beckett was going to introduce him, Castle fails to hide his shock at her declaration.

"Close your mouth, son," Jim Beckett suggests, extending a hand. As they shake, he looks like he's considering and discarding words for Castle. Finally, he opts for simplicity. "Thank you for loving my Katie."

"It's my honor," Castle stumbles in reply, his answer all the more powerful for lacking a smooth delivery.

"This is Andy Sanders, my sponsor," he continues, introducing Castle to the wiry, balding man that rounds out their quartet. As the men shake hands and introduce themselves, Jim puts a hand on his daughter's shoulder and encourages her to make the short trek to Johanna's marker.

Before they complete the turn, Castle steps forward to hand the bouquet to Beckett. With a soft kiss to her cheek, he whispers his love to her then steps back, watching silently as they walk toward the grave with heavy steps.

"Shall we?" Andy asks, gesturing to a bench on which they can wait. Castle nods and follows the older man. Normally not one for long silences, especially on meeting someone new, he finds himself unwilling to break the quiet tranquility of the cemetery. Instead, most of his attention is trained on the knoll tens of yards away, where Beckett is explaining to her father that Johanna's murderer is dead.

"So, Rick, what'm I looking at here?" Andy asks quietly after nearly ten minutes, eyes also trained on the pair.

"The Becketts are remarkably private people," Castle says quietly, still watching them. "Ordinarily, I'd never share their business with anyone. But Kate and I talked about this on the way over," he sighs, remembering the horrible ride here in the car service sedan. At least he'd had the foresight to have someone else drive, so he could sit in the back and comfort Beckett. "You need to know what's going on," he says with foreboding. "This conversation will either be the best or worst thing that's happened to him since Johanna died."

"God will see us through," Andy replies with a tone of quiet confidence. "He's already helped Jim become a stronger man."

"As have you," Castle replies, heartened that there's someone here to look after Jim so he can keep his own focus wholly on Kate. When Andy tries to wave away the compliment, Castle lets the man know what he's likely to face. "We know who killed Johanna," he whispers, still watching Kate but noting Andy's rigid shock in his peripheral vision. "We know who did it, and why. He died recently. His role in what happened will probably never come out, so this is it," he says with a nod. "Their first chance to say goodbye to Johanna with the knowledge that it's finally over."

The men lapse into silence following the terse but harrowing explanation. After a few, long moments, Castle worries that he's tuning Andy out until he realizes that the man's dropped into a mumbled prayer. After a quiet "Amen," the sponsor turns to face Castle directly. It might be rude, Castle admits to himself, but he's keeping his attention, and his eyes, on Beckett.

"You're sure?" Andy asks.

"Certain," he replies. "Beckett even confronted him, before he died. I think that's what's really eating her up right now – she had her chance at closure, but her father didn't." When Andy remains quiet, Castle feels obliged to explain, just a little. "It was a dangerous move for her, even with her training and position. She didn't want to subject her father to that. So, on top of the shock of finding out what happened, she's worried that he'll resent her for shielding him."

Andy nods, taking several minutes to think about what he's heard. While he's thinking, Castle continues to watch his love and her father. They're huddled together again, which he's hoping is a good sign.

Motion from beside him surprises him, finally succeeds in pulling his eyes to Andy.

"Here," the sponsor says, handing Castle a business card. "Jim and I will talk. He's survived worse than this and I'm hopeful that things will go well," he says with a nod toward the embrace between father and daughter. "But if he needs anything, call." Castle's about to reply when Andy speaks again, more hesitantly this time. "If _you_ need anything, call," he says quietly. "Addiction takes many forms," he warns, nodding toward Beckett. "After the kind of trauma they've suffered, coping mechanisms don't just disappear."

"Thank you," Castle says, wondering about how Beckett might react to the absence of a central quest in her life. "I'll call if we need help," he promises. "Whatever she needs, I'll help her. As long as she'll let me."

"From the looks of it," he says with a nod toward the woman in question, who's returning from the grave with her father's arm around her shoulder, "she won't have any trouble leaning on you."

Andy's no sooner stopped talking than Castle's risen from the bench and opened his arms barely in time to catch a tearful Beckett. While they sway in place, he looks up to see that Andy's drawn Jim off to another bench, where they're engaged in conversation.

"Take me home, Castle," Beckett requests quietly.

They're quiet as they make their way back to the car. Once in the backseat, there's no reticence or shyness – Beckett crawls into Castle's lap and he wraps her tight. While he's curious about the conversation she had with her father, he's trying desperately to let her set the pace. She knows he's here, and he's starting to trust that she'll speak when she's ready.

They're nearly back to the loft when she breaks the silence. "Dad asked me to stay with him tonight. Would you mind?"

He's quickly embraced Beckett's presence in the loft, so the honest answer is that he'd prefer she stay. But Castle's wise enough to know the right answer. "Of course," he says before kissing her temple. "He needs your company."

"This is the part where we're supposed to be more direct," Beckett says as she slides off his lap and into the seat so that she can look at him more easily. "You're supposed to admit that you don't want me to go, and I'm supposed to admit that I want you to come with me."

"I don't want you to go," Castle says with a small smile, following the script.

"I want you to come with me," she replies with a small smile of her own.

"Seriously?" he asks, sure she was roping him into a bait-and-switch. When she nods, his smile grows. "Then I'm there."

"What?" Beckett asks, smiling for the first time he can remember since she learned of Bracken's fate. "No fretting about shotguns, no worrying about what my dad might think of you or our relationship?"

"You want me there," he answers with a simple shrug. "That's all that matters."

She's back in his lap in a heartbeat, kissing him fiercely until his chuckles interfere. At her growl, he feels it safest to explain his mirth. "If I knew this was the result, Beckett, I would've ignored your father's sensibilities long ago!"

She gives him the swat he was begging for with the intention of following up with another kiss, but by then the car is gliding smoothly to the curb in front of Castle's building. With a rueful look and a wink, she's off his lap and out the door in a blink, waiting for him to join her. Eduardo's already holding the door and welcoming them home and the elevator's already waiting on the ground floor. In mere minutes, they're back in the loft, alone thanks to a study group for his daughter and a performance for his mother.

Lacking the energy to cook, they make a small meal from their leftovers, passing the time quietly but with an unusually high number of touches, caresses, and glimpses at each other. It's been an emotional day, with more to follow, so they're each worried about the other.

The fragile sense of peace seems to break as Beckett stands in the bedroom with overnight bag in hand, trying to figure out what to pack for her time at her father's place. Recognizing her distress, Castle pads over and wraps his arms around her from behind, leaning down to rest his chin lightly on her shoulder. "What's wrong?" he asks.

"I just realized I should be packing it all," she answers, proud of herself for a completely true and direct answer. "If Bracken's gone then it's all over, right? Acting against us would only create the kind of attention his keepers are looking to avoid. So, there's no need for me to stay."

Alarms, warning bells, klaxons, and sirens all start ringing in Castle's head all at once, a discordant cacophony that blares "Danger! Danger!" In the best of times, the moving-in discussion can be tricky, and the day they've had has only sharpened the spikes beneath the tightrope they're walking.

But…

But Fred's advice comes back to him. _Direct communication_. If he can't express his feelings now, when she most needs to know of his support, then he's not treating her the way she deserves. So, ever so carefully, he frames his reply.

"I don't want you to leave," he says clearly and calmly, not begging but instead making his desires known. "Do you remember what you told me in LA?" he asks gently. "Because I'm going to repeat what you said there: I love you, Kate, and I know who you are. I know how private you are, how you like to have your time alone. So, if you want to leave because you need your space, or because you're not sure about us yet, or because you don't think we've earned this yet, then I'll respect your decision."

He can tell Beckett's about to reply, so he hurries to finish his thoughts.

" _But_ ," he adds in a more playful voice, "please don't go because you think you have to, or because you're worried that I'll be upset if you want to spend some time at your place alone. This isn't all-or-nothing, Kate," he assures her. "We've got time and can do whatever feels right."

Beckett spins in his embrace, wrapping her arms around him and burrowing into his chest. "You terrify me," she admits once she's tucked in, pulling a laugh from Castle. "I'm serious," she defends. "A dozen weeks ago we were so far apart. We could've lost this," she says with a squeeze. "I could look for the rest of my life and not find someone who understands me like you do, Rick."

With a gentle kiss to her forehead, he lets his arms fall. "Come on, Kate. Your dad's waiting and we shouldn't leave him alone. Just grab what you need for one night and we'll figure the rest out later."

Castle's just finishing the note for his mother and daughter when Beckett emerges from the bedroom, small bag in hand. Signing the note with a flourish, he grabs his bag and meets her at the door. After one more passionate kiss, he holds the door open and escorts her out of the loft. He can't help but feel good right now. Their discussion about living spaces seems to have gone alright, and even if tonight's stressful, it might be the first step on the road to recovery. He's feeling optimistic again, something he missed often in the last three months. The welcome return makes him almost jaunty, anxious to move forward as he bounces them toward the elevator.

"Oh, Castle," Beckett says as they step onto the elevator, "I forgot to tell you something." He looks at her curiously just as the doors begin to slide shut. "My dad _does_ own a shotgun," she confesses with an eyebrow waggle before the doors slide closed to hide Castle's look of distress.

* * *

A/N: I felt bad about neglecting Jim, so I added the last scene in this chapter. That bumps the last bit to next week. The next chapter will finish the quarter.

Two quick rounds of thanks: First, a big thanks to everyone who participated in Castle Fic Stream Con (with special thanks to Griever11 for organizing and losing sleep to moderate!). It was a blast. The sessions are available online if you missed out.

Second, many thanks for the follows, favorites, reviews, and PMs. They provide _fantastic_ encouragement.


	18. Chapter 18

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional.

* * *

 **Week Thirteen (part four)**

The smell of coffee pulls Castle from his sleep, has him padding through the unfamiliar bedroom and closing the door slowly to ensure there's no telltale click of the knob to awaken Beckett. It's an impressively stealthy departure, especially since he's mentally kicking himself the whole time.

Casting an eye at the couch on which he was supposed to sleep last night, he doesn't break stride as he moves to the kitchen, where Jim Beckett's already sitting with a cup of coffee, unopened newspaper at the table beside him.

Still moving in silence, Castle collects one of the spare mugs that's been placed on the counter. Filling it, he turns to the kitchen table and takes a seat across from Kate's father.

"You're not the one I expected to lure out with the smell of coffee," Jim admits as he assesses Castle, his tone betraying nothing about his thoughts on these circumstances.

"Kate's exhausted," Castle confides quietly. "I'd planned to slip out here myself and make her some coffee. The smell made me realize that I should've gotten moving earlier."

"So, you were going to sneak out to make coffee," Jim repeats with a disbelieving voice, "not to slip into bed on the sofa?"

If Jim expected Castle to react with embarrassment or shame, he's surprised, though his face reveals nothing. But Castle's shaking his head even before he speaks.

"No," he admits with a smile. "I've got a daughter applying to college. I'm a little too old to go sneaking around. I was where I needed to be last night and I'm not ashamed about that." Pausing to take a sip of coffee, Castle levels his own look at Jim and returns to the topic. "I'm glad that Kate's still asleep. If there's anger to be faced for what happened last night, let's address it now so she has one less thing to worry about when she wakes."

"Since you mentioned your daughter, how would you feel if you found a houseguest in her room?" Jim asks, still aloof.

This is a hell of a way to start the day, Castle thinks to himself. A few measly ounces of coffee following an already-exhausting week is hardly enough to brace for this conversation. And while his own fatherly instincts lead him to appreciate Jim's efforts, Castle thinks he's laying it on a bit thick. Beckett's already confessed that her father knew her feelings even before she did, and her declaration of Castle's place in her life should've left Jim with little doubt about their feelings. But, this is Kate's dad, and if things are going to work between them, they'll be much easier if he's on board. Besides, it really would be for the best to have this resolved before Kate awakens and joins them.

"Our circumstances are a little different," Castle answers evenly. "In the situation you describe, I'd have Kate there in a heartbeat, festooned in the full regalia of her position, to put the fear of God into that boy," he answers seriously. "You'll have to do the honors yourself, I'm afraid," he continues, "and I have no illusions about your reaction."

"And yet you couldn't manage to keep yourself parked on the sofa for six hours, even knowing the likely consequences of your decision?"

"Kate needed me last night," Castle answers simply. "You couldn't have kept me on that sofa if you'd been sitting right there with your shotgun on your lap."

"The shotgun's at the cabin," Jim answers, still maddeningly reserved. "I'm not sure how useful it'd be here, to be honest. Doesn't seem like you need to be prodded to get married," he says with a perched brow. "It's remaining so that might require the weapon."

"I've been married – and divorced – twice," Castle confirms. "I've made a lot of mistakes over the years, though I like to think that I'm a better man now after spending time with your daughter," he says before drinking more coffee. "As a father," he adds, failing to hide his look of pride, "I can appreciate your concerns about me. I'll answer whatever questions you have about my marriages," he offers. "But not now."

This finally sparks a reaction from Jim, who looks both surprised at Castle's candor and confused by the curt end to the conversation despite his comment about resolving this before Kate awakens. "Why not now?"

"Because I haven't offered Kate the same opportunity," Castle answers easily.

"You're not what I expected," Jim offers in reply after it becomes apparent that Castle considers his simple statement sufficient. "I've had a hard time reconciling what I heard from Katie with what I knew from Jo's infatuation with you." In reply to Castle's look of shock, Jim finally cracks a smile. "You didn't know? My wife was quite a fan of yours."

"Really?" Castle asks, mind spinning as he thinks about hearing of Johanna's interest in his books from her husband.

"I'll confess to an occasional twinge of jealousy about the whole thing," Jim confesses, "since I had to hear all about you with every new release. I might've taken a little too much pleasure, then, when hearing about your embarrassing exploits and foibles." At this, Castle has the good sense to look down while he blushes. "So, you can appreciate my concern when I heard that you were following Katie at the precinct."

"Yes," Castle answers, forcing himself to look up and face Jim. "I can appreciate your concern. It was well placed."

"' _Was_?'" Jim asks. "Because from where I'm sitting, it seems to me that I should still be very concerned."

"I wasn't being flippant earlier," Castle replies, grasping for words in the face of Jim's inquisition. "I'm a much different man now than when I started shadowing Kate," he confesses, privately happy that he said 'different' rather than 'more mature,' since he's still happy to be a bit childish on (many) occasion(s). "My intentions for her now are… well, I haven't shared them with her yet, though she knows exactly how serious this is for me. I don't think you need to worry about my intentions."

"For a writer, you're not particularly eloquent," Jim notes with a perched brow. It's odd, seeing the look he knows so well from a male face, but now, finally, Castle knows where he stands. Jim's giving him the business just like his daughter loves to do.

"Give me a break," Castle grouses, finally getting a chuff of amusement from the older man. "It's still far too early to be awake, it's been an incredibly stressful week after a long several months, I've never done the 'impress the father' thing before, and I'm sitting here in my pajamas," Castle complains. "I thought I was articulating myself pretty well, all things considered."

"You did alright," Jim allows with a smile. "You didn't let me push you around much, which is a skill you'll certainly need with Katie," he chuckles, especially at Castle's fervent nod. "If it's any consolation, I've never done the 'grill the suitor' talk before, either. Did I do okay?"

"You did well," Castle admits, rubbing his sweaty palms on his thighs. "Probably too well. Can we relax now?"

"I suppose you've earned a little break," Jim allows, smiling again. At least until he hears Castle's next question.

"Are you okay? With the Bracken situation?"

Jim sighs and looks into his coffee, thinking about the horrible revelations his daughter shared last evening. Truth be told, he didn't mind Castle joining Katie. He'd been glad she had someone to support her, even if it made him feel Johanna's absence a little more acutely.

"I will be," he answers quietly.

The silence that stretches after his reply is fragile but not entirely uncomfortable. His words sounded more like a vow than a hope, so Castle lets the silence flow while sitting in quiet solidarity with Kate's father.

So it is that Jim actually breaks the quiet of the early morning. "Why don't you grab a refill and bring a cup to Katie?"

"You're a wise man," Castle nods in agreement. "That's one of the first things I learned at the precinct – life is much more pleasant when Beckett has caffeine."

"It's been true longer than you can imagine," Jim replies with a reminiscent smile. "I know my daughter well. She'll appreciate the caffeine, and the effort. She'll also appreciate a chance to talk, because I'll eat this mug if she hasn't heard every word we've spoken this morning."

* * *

Beckett's sitting up in bed, clad in one of Castle's undershirts, when he slips back into her bedroom moments later. Her eyes are alert and her movements energetic as she scoots aside and leans against the headboard to make room for him. And if those clues weren't sufficient to prove that her father's prediction was correct, the fading blush on her cheeks reveals her eavesdropping.

"Thanks for allowing me to think that I'd been sneaky this morning," he harrumphs as he delivers her coffee, standing beside the bed until she's inhaled the first whiff of the brew and taken a few sips to lower the level of hot liquid in her mug. Then, slipping into bed beside her, he pulls the covers over their legs before reclaiming his mug from the bedside table.

"Sorry, Rick," she replies quietly but with humor. "I had a feeling dad wanted some alone time with you, and I didn't want you to get worked up about it."

"Yeah, thanks for the heads up. Some partner you are," Castle whines. "' _Hey, partner, go wander down that dark alley alone. Here, I'll hold your gun for you_ ,'" he grumps in exaggeration.

Beckett laughs, enjoying his discomfort. "You did well, Castle. What you said was beautiful. Thank you," she breathes before leaning over to kiss him, finally starting their day properly. "But," she adds with a raised brow, "if you want me to hold your gun, we should probably wait until we get home."

Letting his head fall back to thump against the headboard, Castle closes his eyes and tries to fight his reaction to the imagery she created and emphasized with her sexy little eyebrow twitch. "Would taking a cold shower get me into more trouble with your father or less?" he complains.

"Depends," Beckett answers sassily. "Would I be joining you?"

"You do realize I have to leave this room sometime, and probably sometime soon?" he grouses with a chuckle. "Forget the shotgun, your father'll kill me with his bare hands."

"I'll protect you, Castle," she laughs, caffeinated, happy, and teasing. "But I'd prefer to avoid the situation, I guess. Just think of something else," she suggests while leaning her head down to look up at him while darting her tongue around the rim of her mug.

"So," Castle asks with a roll of his eyes, "how 'bout them Yankees?"

"Baseball?" she laughs. "Whatever works for you. Hey, did I know I've got a Yankees jersey? It's a little tight, but it looks pretty good if I just do the one button and tie the shirttails together…"

Her description is cut off by the sound of Castle's head thumping against the headboard again, which is barely audible over his low groan. " _Not_ helping."

"I disagree," she replies seriously, looking down at the tenting sheets. "Looks to me like you're ready for an at bat." When he groans again and rubs his forehead, she takes the opportunity to turn her head and whisper into his ear. "I was very glad to hear that your intentions for me are honorable, Castle." Then, after some quick nibbles to his ear, she adds "But you'd better watch yourself. Some of my intentions for us are decidedly impure."

"I've gotta go," Castle says urgently, looking slightly panicked. He tosses the sheets aside in preparation to depart, but his progress is halted when Beckett's hand lands on his upper thigh.

"Not if you can be quiet," she whispers, letting her hand start to wander.

It's a toss-up as to who looks more surprised when Castle's hand lands atop hers, pinning it in place. "I can't believe I'm saying this," he says with a gulp, "but no."

"No?" whispers Beckett in a way that sure sounds like "Yes."

Castle keeps his hand in place, keeping Beckett's hand pinned. "No," he confirms. "Not here… not now," he struggles to articulate himself.

"Castle," Beckett huffs, turning her hand over to twine her fingers with his. "Dad knows we're together. I'm over 30 and in a committed relationship. I suspect he knows what that includes."

"I know," he sighs. "But it doesn't feel right. It's a dad thing, I guess. I was just introduced to him as someone important to you a day ago, and under dire circumstances. Then we come here and I presume upon his hospitality to sneak in here. It just feels…," he struggles, waving his free hand around to emphasize his trouble, "… disrespectful."

"And if I'd wanted to play last night?" she asks, not upset but curious.

"I would've – I will do anything to comfort you," he vows quietly. "And if I've misunderstood _this_ ," he explains while squeezing her hand, "and confused friskiness for a need for comfort, then you can have your wicked way with me. But if not, then let's just wait."

"I will never understand how it took me so long to really see you," Beckett says quietly, squeezing his hand and kissing his cheek. Then, worried she's getting sappy, so goes back to teasing. "You sure you can wait?" Beckett pushes, not trying to tempt but instead curious about how much he's thought about this. "I'm spending the day with my dad, and you've got your last night shift tonight."

"It won't be easy," he says with a rueful chuckle, "but we'll be in the Hamptons in two days. I can wait. I did it for years."

"You might not have to wait that long," she whispers leaning her head on his shoulder. "Dad and I are going back to the diner for lunch. I think I could use a nap afterwards, if that's okay?"

"Beckett, it will _always_ be okay for you to crawl in bed with me," he assures her needlessly, lifting her hand to grace it with a chaste kiss.

"There's our word again, Castle," she answers happily. "I like this meaning a lot more than the one you suggested in LA."

"I like everything better than it was in LA," he grunts in response, still embarrassed by how that conversation went.

"I remember our time there fondly," she disagrees, nuzzling him. "That talk got us here, Castle. It might've been a little uncomfortable, but I think it worked out for the best."

"You talking about our conversation or your ride on my shoulder?"

"It was all part of the fun," she assures him. "Now, come on. If we're behaving ourselves this morning, let's go spend some time with dad. We need to get you more comfortable with each other," she suggests as she crawls out of bed and tugs his hand to help him rise, "so that next time we're here, or when we visit the cabin, we can start the evening in the same bed," she entices with a kiss to his cheek, "and then maybe linger there."

* * *

"You promised me firefighters," Lanie grumps, looking around the empty Haunt.

"It's not even 6:00 yet!" Beckett laughs, navigating around the caterers who flit about the tables, preparing for tonight's festivities. "Most of the guys are on shift, so they won't show until an hour or so afterward."

"You said the boys are stopping by, too?" Lanie asks with what Beckett suspects is false nonchalance. Whether this means Lanie's interested in Espo's arrival time or instead concerned about having her style cramped tonight isn't something she wants to risk her buoyant mood by exploring.

"After basketball," she confirms. "So, assuming no turned ankles or bad backs, they'll be here."

"Basketball?" Lanie laughs. "I hope they're playing PS138. Anyone older than middle school is going to tower over them."

"They're playing LT and Wilcox," Beckett answers with a smirk, watching her friend's eyes widening.

"Well, we can visit them in the ER after the party winds down," Lanie replies, still shaking her head at the testosterone-fueled lunacy that must've spurred the matchup in which Beckett's teammates cede a combined three or four feet and about 150 pounds to their opponents.

"Or in the morning," Beckett replies with an eyebrow waggle Lanie suspects she learned from her partner.

"With any luck," Lanie grouses again. "For me, anyway. We're not all dating sexy firefighters, police consultants, writers who immortalize us in bestsellers, or rich dudes. Must be nice," Lanie continues while looking around, "to be wealthy enough to close your own bar on a Friday night and throw yourself a party."

"Says the woman with a ticket to Puerto Vallarta," Beckett replies with a raised brow, pulling a slight blush from Lanie. "Besides, the party's more for his coworkers than it is for him," Beckett reminds her friend. "You know Castle – he's always looking to help his friends or throw a party. Tonight lets him do both."

"That sounds right," Lanie agrees with a nod. "And we don't even have to feel bad. They get a party, but we got vacations!"

"He's enjoyed his time at the firehouse," Beckett clarifies, "but there's no doubt where his real interest lies."

"Yeah – right in front of me, wearing sexy heels," Lanie answers with a laugh that drops into a look of shock when her friend just gives a naughty shrug rather than a denial.

Not long after, Castle bustles into the scene. He's been a whirlwind, full of energy following the days of sleep following his last (blessedly uneventful) night shift. He hustles about the bar, chatting up his staff and the caterers, leaving smiles and chuckles in his trail. A few of the ladies cast him inquiring glances, but there's no doubt where his interest lies, since he always makes his way back to Beckett.

"Hey beautiful," he says as he approaches the table at which Beckett and Lanie sit, chatting happily in anticipation of the party. Before Beckett can reply, Lanie cuts in.

"Ricky!" she coos, "don't call me that in front of Kate!"

Her teasing earns her a swat from her friend and the front row seat for a greeting kiss between Beckett and Castle that's barely within the definition of socially appropriate.

"This is gonna take some getting used to," Lanie complains after the other two finally break apart.

"Not really," her friend answers with a lifted brow. "Feels like the most natural thing in the world."

"You two really are disgusting," Lanie grumbles as she watches Castle nod. "Congratulations."

When Beckett looks at Castle to see how he's going to reply to Lanie's comment, she sees him looking a bit devilish. Grabbing her drink, she lifts it to her mouth to help hide her reaction to whatever mischief he's planning.

"So, Lanie," he asks, tone serious and focus complete. "What's the deal with you and Espo?"

"Uh, what?" Lanie stumbles, surprised to be the one who's put on the spot. "Whadya mean?" she asks while she buys time, cutting a look at Beckett while wondering if her friend is behind this.

"Am I introducing you to guys from the firehouse," Castle asks with some patience and some humor, "or is that going to get me into trouble with Espo?"

Lanie's about to answer when a muffled snort from her friend reveals exactly how much Beckett's enjoying Lanie's discomfiture. Naturally, she bridles in response.

"Oh, hush, you," she glares at Beckett before rounding on Castle. "Nothing wrong with meeting new people, right?"

An hour later, Castle's done exactly that. Lanie's met most of his close friends from the firehouse, excepting only those poor souls who drew tonight's shift. Some remember her from the carwash, where she made quite an impression. Others are anxious to meet Rick's friend about whom they'd heard stories. Castle refuses to reveal the nature of those stories, answering every question from her or Beckett with a light shrug and impish look.

If Lanie hasn't particularly gravitated toward any fireman in particular, she's happy to flit about and chat with her new friends. As for Beckett, though, there's little movement from Castle's side. They navigate the party together, moving smoothly from conversation to conversation. His colleagues from the firehouse are _very_ interested in meeting her, and more than a few tease or thank her for revealing Castle's real identity, causing a blush every time. Privately, Castle thinks that's why they're doing it – Beckett's gorgeous on an average day, but with a slight blush? Heavenly.

As for Beckett, she's impressed anew by Castle. It's clear that he made friends at the firehouse. Gruff comradery can't mask the affection that they feel, and Beckett's keen observational skills pick up many of the tells that reveal the regret about Castle's departure. While tonight's a happy celebration, it still makes her melancholy as she compares it to his subdued departure from the precinct three months ago.

"It's okay," he whispers after her tightening grip belies her concerns. "We're here now. We made it."

By 8:30, the party's in full swing. The music is thumping and there's been enough drinking and chatting for people to feel comfortable dancing. Beckett and Castle are just making their way back to the table they've claimed when a loud chorus of boos announces the arrival of more officers. Preening and talking trash, Ryan and Esposito make their way over to the table. Ryan's obviously limping, while Esposito's eye looks like it was a temporary lodging point for LT's elbow. They both sit down slowly, showing either fatigue or the effects of some body-shots that'll be hurting even more in the morning.

"So, good game, then?" Beckett asks with a smirk as Castle waves to Carrie, one of the servers. While the boys spin tales about the game, Castle whispers to Carrie, who departs with a smile and a sway in her hips that has Beckett's brow wrinkling. Despite knowing that she has nothing to worry about and that Castle would never mess around with anyone, especially an employee, she still smiles as she realizes there's no need to be circumspect. With a happy smile, she presses herself into Castle's side. His arm is around her shoulders in a blink.

"Well, that's new," Ryan notes casually, his words lisping slightly due to a fat lip from the game. "Figure'd we'd hear something about this tonight, but you're not wasting any time."

"Speaking of time," Esposito says leadingly before Lanie's arrival temporarily distracts him. After she uses a finger to lift his jaw back into place, Esposito shakes his head to clear it and returns to his point. "Speaking of time, there are certain bets that can be settled tonight now that this," he says while waving a hand at Beckett and Castle, "is disgustingly public. Honeymilk?"

At his partner's prodding, Ryan pulls out his wallet and extracts a folded piece of paper. It's covered in scribbled notations, many of which are difficult to read for all the creases that have to be smoothed repeatedly on the tabletop. Peering at the document as if trying to read tea leaves, Ryan's brow wrinkles as he comes to an uncomfortable conclusion.

"So?" Esposito asks, anxious to find out who won the long-running bet about when Castle and Beckett would get together.

"No one here," Ryan says as he starts to refold the paper. Lanie's open palm lands flat upon the paper, halting his progress.

"Nuh-uh," she says, shaking her head. "We want to know who won."

"I don't think you do," Ryan mumbles, beseeching eyes trying in vain to appeal to Lanie. Oddly, everyone looks interested except Castle, who almost looks smug. Ryan can't really blame him after finally finding his way to Beckett, so he doesn't want to ruin his friend's mood.

Unfortunately, while he's been looking at Castle, Lanie's been on the move. Like a magician withdrawing a tablecloth, Lanie whips the paper out from beneath Ryan's hand. With a cackle, she leans back in her chair and tries to make sense of the notes. "And the winner is…," she says to buy some time as she works out the notes. Then, shooting a crestfallen look at Ryan and getting a sad nod in return, she announces the winner. "Demming."

Oh, God, Beckett thinks to herself. After everything they've been through, for that mistake to crop up now? Scanning the faces at the table, she notes that her team shares her sense of dismay. With trepidation, she slowly pivots to see how Castle's taking this news. She's more than a little surprised to see his wide smile.

"I believe you're mistaken," Castle says with a Cheshire grin. "Check the paper."

"I thought I did," Lanie replies, confused.

"Yeah, Castle," Ryan agrees. "It says right here," he says, pointing to the paper in Lanie's hand.

"I'm more interested in this entry," Castle replies, pointing to a different place on the document.

"' _They won't_?'" Lanie reads. "Castle, you bet against yourself?"

"Read the note," he suggests, turning to wink at Beckett.

"You crafty bastard," Lanie nods appreciatively after studying the paper again. "' _Not while they're at the precinct_.'"

"So, even if Demming had the timing right…," Esposito starts.

"Writer-boy called it because he wasn't in the precinct," Lanie finishes happily.

"Nice!" Esposito says, holding out a fist to bump, which starts a round of fist bumps around the table. In the general commotion, another guest sidles up to the table unannounced.

"So, you're all happy the rich guy won the pool?" says a familiar female voice.

"Fred!" Castle greets happily, scooting out of the table and welcoming his sister with an enormous hug. "You made it!"

Such is Castle's happiness at seeing his friend that he misses the reactions around the table. Lanie shoots Beckett an inquisitive glance, trying to gauge her friend's reaction to Castle's welcome hug to another woman. Ryan and Espo share an uncomfortable glance, remembering their last encounter with Castle's friend.

"Hey, little brother, of course I made it," Fred says while stepping out of the hug and tapping his cheek. "I've been worried about you getting burned up since I met you. _Of course_ I'll help celebrate leaving for something safer."

"Chasing killers is safer?" Beckett asks with quirked lips.

"As long as you take care of him," she replies with a challenging look. Beckett gives a single, slow nod, accepting the responsibility. Castle, meanwhile, gives a Beckett-worthy eye roll.

"Rick, is there anyplace I can drop this?" she asks, nodding at the suitcase she brought straight from the airport.

"Of course," Castle says as he grabs the handle of the bag. "Espo, give me a hand."

Castle's request for help is a little odd since there's just the one bag, but the others at the table shrug it off and turn to introductions, since Lanie hasn't actually met Fred before. Meanwhile, Esposito follows Castle down to his office, where he stashes Fred's suitcase beside the sofa.

"Nice security," Esposito compliments, looking at Castle's set-up for the office. "Must be a rough neighborhood if you needed a bodyguard, too."

"How proud are you, Espo?" Castle asks, offering the detective a question in response to the subtle inquiry.

"Bro, I'm as almost as proud as I deserve to be," he answers, strutting slightly, though his efforts are marred by the injuries sustained at the basketball game.

Appreciating a little self-confidence, Castle chuckles before offering an explanation. "I owe you, Javier. Beckett and I have talked about a lot of things lately, including our history. She mentioned your comments to her back during the Demming time. It might've take a while, but that really helped us. So," he says while pointing to a box on the desk, " _thanks_."

Espo ambles over to the desk and opens the top of the box, looking instantly confused. "What the hell, Castle? You makin' me a junior firefighter or somethin'?"

"That," Castle says, pointing to the box again, "is an official FDNY uniform. What you do with it is up to you, but I'll just say that if you break that out when you're spending time with Lanie, you might actually need to put out a fire."

As he watches, Espo's look morphs from one of mild offense to intrigued anticipation. "Thanks, man," he manages to say, though it's clear his thoughts are still focused elsewhere. "I'll meet you back at the table – just gonna run this out to my car. Don't say anything to Lanie, right? Or Ryan?"

"That's why we're down here," Castle answers easily. "Have fun."

Wandering back upstairs after locking up, Castle takes the opportunity to check in with some of his closer friends who mill about the Haunt. Big John's been trying to chat up Carrie, who casts Castle a grateful look when he interrupts and allows her casual escape. From there, he moves on to Dave and his aptly-named wife Joy. Tonight's party is just the first stop on their date night, so he wishes them well before they depart. Sully sidles over as he's on his way back to the table, clearly looking for another introduction to Fred, and Castle's in too good a mood to disabuse him of any impossible dreams of romantic conquest.

Espo's beaten him back to the table before he and Sully arrive, so there's just one chair left. Castle's about to borrow one from another table when Sully emits a muttered curse and slips away. Turning to see what caused Sully's departure and the general decrease in noise in the festivities, Castle finds himself face to face with Sal Cassano, the Fire Commissioner, in full dress uniform.

Castle makes quick introductions and offers his seat to Sal, who demurs while pointing to a booth in the corner and asking for a word in private. The booth isn't empty, but Sal seems convinced that it will be as soon as he expresses an interest in sitting there. While Sal starts toward the booth, Castle turns to Beckett.

"Would you like to join us?" he asks, serious.

"Castle," she replies in exasperation, "he said he wanted a word in private."

"We both know he's going to make another push to stay at the firehouse, or elsewhere in the Department," he explains while she nods.

"And you need me for a shield?" she asks, surprised by his seeming lack of confidence in facing this challenge alone.

"No," he replies with a wink, "but it kind of seems like a family decision, right?"

Their friends around the table go silent at this, their shock making them forget that they were trying to eavesdrop unobtrusively. Beckett's quiet, too, until she stands, grabs Castle by the lapels, and yanks him into a searing kiss.

"I trust you to protect our interests, Rick," she whispers to him as she takes half a step away, using her hands to smooth his shirt and blazer back into shape. "Just be polite?"

That earns her a smirk and a small salute as Castle turns to amble over to the corner booth, from which the firefighters who had been sitting there couldn't flee fast enough at Sal's approach. Just as Castle's sliding into the booth, though, someone else pulls in beside him and asks him to "move his big ass over."

"Ben!" Castle notes happily as he slides aside, noticing at the same time that Sal doesn't look overly pleased by this development. "I didn't think you were going to make it."

"Monica made me," he explains tersely. "She heard you did some writing here and went all moony about it."

Sure enough, as he looks back toward Beckett, he sees that Monica's taken her place and is deep in conversation with Beckett, Lanie, Fred, and Carla, who must've joined the table at some point. From the looks of it, Fred's telling the story of how she learned that he wasn't actually an obituary writer.

"So, Rick," Sal interjects, breaking into the conversation, "I wanted to try one last time to see if we can't figure out a way to get you to stay with us. After all," he says officiously, "we've invested a lot in your training and don't have much to show for it yet."

"'Cept a carwash that earned more than the last ten combined and calendar preorders that're through the damn roof," Costa answers before Castle can speak. "For some damned reason," he adds, cutting a doubtful look at Castle and getting a smirk in reply.

"And you'll get your storyline," Castle adds, careful not to specify whether this will be a solo book or instead something that's weaved into Nikki Heat. He's got some ideas on this front, another example of where he's hoping that life will eventually imitate art, but he's holding that close right now.

Sal's demeanor, which had soured when Costa was speaking, turns up at this promise. "Good, good," he says, before pausing to think. "But you still shouldn't leave. Besides, if you're still there, it'll be easier to do the PR for the book, right?"

"Sal," Castle says, leaning forward to impart a feeling of confidence, "you see the gorgeous brunette I was sitting next to when you arrived? That's Kate Beckett, the inspiration for Nikki Heat. She's also the next and last woman I'll marry. Next week, I go back to working with her. Trust me, you have absolutely nothing that'll compare to that."

His declaration actually prompts a rare chuckle from Costa, who must appreciate seeing the Commissioner boxed in. Sal hasn't given up, though, if the look of concentration on his face is any indication. The look collapses, though, then he's asked to slide aside to make room for another addition to their group.

"Ben Costa," Castle says amicably, "this is Bob Weldon, an old friend of mine and the mayor of New York City. Looking for free booze or more votes tonight, Bob?" Castle asks his friend with a wink while studiously ignoring that their little assemblage seems to have rendered the rest of the bar quiet as partygoers gawk at the confab in the corner.

"Can't have one without the other," Bob shrugs as Carrie hustles over to take his order as an exclamation point to his comment. After ordering, Bob turns back to the group. "Sorry to crash the party, but I just wanted to stop by to congratulate you all," Weldon says expansively, catching Castle's eye again. "This quarter was fantastic exposure for the Fire Department, and news of your return to the NYPD is making rounds in the recruiting centers. Hannah Simmons from my office will be in touch next week to follow up on her project, Rick."

"I've heard she can spin straw into gold," he says to his friend, thinking back to the first Hannah project that Beckett shared with him.

"She's certainly had tougher challenges and performed well," Weldon agrees with a smirk. Then, with the inside references there to emphasize their connection (as well as Sal's lack of a connection in comparison), Weldon turns to Costa. "So, Captain, you looking forward to a little peace and quiet with this troublemaker out of your hair?"

"At least he's leaving while I still have some left," Costa grumbles, running his fingers through his hair. "His coworkers will miss him. They aren't too bright," Costa confides to Weldon, getting an annoyed look from Sal. "But I won't miss having media and ex-wives poking around my 'house."

"Ex-wives?" Weldon asks with delight.

"Don't start," Castle replies repressively. "Thanks a lot, Ben."

"So, you back at the Twelfth after the holiday weekend?" Weldon asks, letting his other line of inquiry drop away.

"Gonna take a few extra days on the beach to relax," Castle replies. It's killing him not to look over at Beckett, but all three of the other men at the table know exactly where his intentions and attention lie, as their smirks clearly demonstrate. "What?" Castle asks as if offended. "I've been pushed hard these last few weeks – fires, arsonists …"

"Unauthorized homicide investigations in distant jurisdictions," Weldon adds, not-so-helpfully.

"Yeah, that too," Castle answers with a laugh. "I'm looking forward to getting back to the chaos of the Homicide schedule, after I catch up on some sleep."

"Yeah," Costa grumbles, casting a look at Beckett, "good luck with that."

Castle's actually blushing when Sal makes one last attempt. "We could think about some joint events, right? There's already the charity football game between the FDNY and the cops, and a few other things like that. You've been in both camps, you could be the MC or a guest referee," he suggests, grasping at straws to maintain some kind of PR link between Castle and the FDNY.

"Yeah, I'm not sure he'll be seen as impartial with the big FDNY flame he's got tattooed on his arm," Costa points out.

"He's got another arm," Weldon says reasonably. "Time for more ink, Rick?" he says teasingly, enjoying the displeased look he's getting in return for his suggestion.

"If anyone's going to pick out a tattoo for Castle, it'll be me," Beckett offers, suddenly standing beside the table with Monica next to her. Neither of them look particularly pleased.

"Benjamin," Monica intones, "I thought this was a party, not a working group."

"Yeah, _Richard_ ," Beckett adds, struggling to keep a straight face while she adopts Monica's staged displeasure. "You owe me a dance. And Winnie, too, after she went through all the trouble to make it here."

"My apologies, ladies," Sal says formally, his tone not quite masking his annoyance. "We were finished here, anyway." As they all slide out of the booth, Sal makes his terse goodbyes before leaving the Haunt. Castle doesn't think it's his imagination that suggests the atmosphere suddenly refills the room after his departure.

"Well," Weldon says playfully while clapping his hands together and rubbing them gleefully, "my work here is done. Poker, week after next?" he asks Castle.

"Yep, at my place. You interested, Ben?" Castle asks casually.

"Might be," Costa allows before his wife sidles up next to him.

"Talking about gambling's worse than talking shop," she explains with a head shake. "He'll call you. For now, he's going to dance with his wife." With a kiss to Costa's cheek and a wink to Beckett, Monica drags her reluctant husband to the area where people are dancing, firefighters from his house clearing a path in disbelief.

"I'll leave you two before I force Detective Beckett to take drastic steps," Weldon says with a smile. "Kate, Rick," he adds meaningfully while turning to look at each of them, "I can't tell you how glad I am that this has all worked out."

Weldon accepts their beaming smiles as salutations and makes his way to the door, but much more slowly than Sal. Weldon stops to chat along the way, working the crowd like a professional. After he's passed through, people are laughing and smiling. It's a stark comparison to the feelings following the Commissioner's exit.

Had Beckett been watching Weldon's progress, she'd realize another similarity between Castle and his friend. But her attention is wholly on Castle, who returns her interest as they make their way over to dance.

"I'm so proud," Beckett says in a teasing voice as she leans into him. "After years and years, you finally learned how to call for backup."

"That obvious, huh?" Castle answers with a laugh, chastising himself for the ridiculous thought that Beckett wouldn't figure out his plan to have Weldon show up to cut off any late efforts by Sal.

"The great thing about loving someone," Beckett prefaces and Castle nearly bites his tongue at her boldness, "is that you can recognize the significance of events that look innocuous to others. Like calling for backup," she states her case.

"Or a book as a birthday present," he adds.

"Or a sweater," she replies, squeezing the arm she's using to lead him to the dance.

"Showing up at a wedding," he adds, still surprised by her bravery

"Showing up on the other side of the country for a case," she ripostes.

"Introducing me to your father," Castle plays his trump card.

"Welcoming me into your home," she finishes, wrapping her arms around him as they swing into position to dance. "I think we've skipped from innocuous events to obviously significant developments, as Lanie might say."

"Smart woman," Castle praises as he leans toward Beckett.

"Helped us get here," Beckett answers. "So, before we get lost in the dance, are you going to tell me when you placed your winning bet?" she asks, curious about when Castle predicted that they'd get together outside of the precinct. She suspects it was made long ago, perhaps shortly before he extended the first invitation to his beach house. But, it could've been more recent.

"That, Detective Beckett," she says wickedly as he leans forward to whisper into her ear, "is a confession that will require all of your considerable skills, at interrogation or _otherwise_ ," he coos, "to extract from me."

"All of my skills, eh?" Beckett replies as she whispers back. "I strongly suspect, Mister Castle, you'll willfully give me _anything I want_ once I've used my skills."

"Try me," he replies challengingly, leaning toward her.

"I plan to," she agrees as she moves to meet him. "Repeatedly," she promises before she loses herself in the kiss, and the dance.

* * *

"You'd hardly know those two were so far apart just weeks ago," Lanie says quietly to Fred, nodding at the dancing couple.

"It's funny," Fred answers quietly, checking to see that Ryan and Espo are still in a good-natured argument with Sully and Kevin, keeping them distracted. "I should probably be warier of her, given how hurt Rick was when I met him. But he tried _so hard_ to break away, to bury his feelings."

" _Really_ ," Lanie answers in a flat voice.

"Not like that," Fred replies with a roll of her eyes. "I've discussed this with Kate and you can get the details from her. He was honorable – ridiculously so. But he's also such a kid. He's got me thinking that this is true love, that only true love could be tested this way and remain strong. It's a damned fairy tale and I feel like a lovesick teen for believing in it," she complains self-consciously. "But I do," she confesses.

"Just don't tell _them_ ," Lanie advises sagely. "They're getting there, but this is still new. They've got some work ahead of them and the _last_ thing we need is them thinking the work is done. I don't know about you, but I've had to double my gym time for all the breakfasts, brunches, lunches, dinners, and drinks where I've had to provide some consolation or encouragement. I need a break!"

Fred laughs, enjoying Lanie's exuberant personality. "See, that's your problem," Fred offers some wisdom of your own. "You needed to be a gay man. That way, you could've gone dancing with Kate and not worried about any of the overtones. I wore out two pairs of shoes and my best western boots with Rick," she says while smiling and lamenting the loss of some beloved footwear. "And I actually _lost_ weight."

"And Kate calls me the brat," Lanie harrumphs, thinking that the beautiful woman next to her hardly needed help looking more attractive. "You two must've gotten some attention on the dancefloor," she suggests, consoling herself with some good gossip.

"It was unbelievable," Fred confesses with a laugh. "But it kind of backfired. Rick was using me as a shield from other women, and we'd hoped that we could find someone for me while we were dancing. But men hit on me like crazy, and most women who approached us, if not looking at him alone, were looking to join us both," she admits with a blush.

"I bet writer-boy just _loved_ that," Lanie says with a roll of her eyes, imagining Castle's response after suffering a bruise to his sometimes inflated ego.

"You think I'd tell him?" Fred asks incredulously, before breaking down in giggles. "I might not date men," she confides, "but I still know how to handle them."

"Winnie, why in the hell are you moving to LA?" Lanie complains after she finishes hooting in laughter. "You and I need to spend more time together. And even if my tastes are well-defined and go in a different direction," she admits while looking around the room at the burly firefighters before coming back to Esposito, " _I_ could do a much better job of setting you up than writer-boy managed."

"Please," says Castle from behind her, startling Lanie with his stealthy approach, "I'm a first-rate wing-man, right Fred?"

Still panting lightly from a vigorous dance, he pulls out a chair for Beckett and claims the seat between her and Fred. The commotion attracts the interest of Ryan and Esposito, who rejoin the conversation as Sully and Kevin drift off.

"You are," Fred confirms, glancing around the table to ensure that everyone is paying attention. "Even when you don't know it."

"What do you mean?" Castle asks curiously, thanking Carrie for the glasses of ice water that she's brought for the table.

"Well, I was going to talk to you about this in private, but I met someone while I was in LA," she admits, looking down while a lovely blush spills into her cheeks.

" _Really_?" Castle asks. "That's _great_!" he enthuses, offering a fist-bump that she bashfully accepts. He's so happy for her that he almost seems to be losing the thread of how this conversation started, so Beckett jumps in.

"How was Castle involved?" she asks, curious herself and noting the inquisitive looks from around the table.

"Well, it's someone you know," Fred offers shyly, looking down to play with the label of a beer bottle that she pulled from the table in her quest to fidget.

" _Not_ Meredith," Castle begs. " _Please_ tell me it's not Meredith."

"Rick," she answers seriously, looking up and staring directly at him. "I'd never do that." Then, after a pausing a beat and releasing a devilish look, she adds. "To Alexis."

Castle harrumphs while the others around the table laugh at his discomfort. Even Beckett can't stifle an uncharacteristic giggle, though she tries. This time, it's Lanie offering a fist-bump to Fred.

"No, this is someone else," Fred offers when the laughter calms down. "She's quiet, beautiful, and has a wicked sense of humor. She's just gone through something rough, but she's resilient."

While the rest of the table looks enraptured, this is becoming less fun for Beckett. The last thing she wants to hear about is another Castle ex. But she can't really leave without making a scene, and she doesn't really want to leave anyway. Reminding herself where they are now, she holds tight to Castle's hand and gets an affirming squeeze in return.

"She's coming out to visit, actually," Fred continues with a nonchalant shrug. "I told her we could all get together."

"Damn right," Castle answers quickly. "Speaking as your brother, I'll need to make sure she's worthy of you. We'll have her over to the loft for dinner, have the ladies get a look, too."

" _Rick_ …," Fred whines, while the boys nod fervently in support of Castle's position and the ladies merely roll their eyes.

"What's her name, honey?" Lanie asks, trying to get the shy woman to open up.

Slowly, Fred turns to face Lanie. "Her name is Nat," she offers gently, before turning to look at Castle and Beckett. "Nat Rhodes."

Stunned silence follows this announcement. Castle, Beckett, the boys, and Lanie cast each other dismayed looks, each trying to spur someone else to say something. Finally, Castle breaks. "Maybe not the loft," he gulps. "We can have dinner somewhere else."

"What?" Fred asks, looking heartbroken. "Why not the loft?" When Castle struggles and no one else offers an explanation, she gets upset. "What, isn't she good enough to visit the loft? You got a thing against actresses, little brother?"

"What? No!" Castle reacts clumsily. "My own experience with one didn't go too well, and Mother's not exactly a poster-elder for stable relationships," he rambles, "but I'm sure there are good actresses out there. It's just…," he trails off again, trying to figure out how to make his point without further offending Fred.

"You know what I really don't get?" Fred asks rhetorically, sounding annoyed as she surveys everyone at the table. "How in the hell do you guys catch anybody if you're so gullible?" she asks before breaking into peals of laughter that ring through the Haunt, pulling more than a little attention their way.

"What?" Castle asks, stupefied. He's hardly alone as the boys cast each other surprised looks, chagrined at being suckered but happy that they're not on the receiving end of Fred's assault this time. Beckett, too, feels a mix of emotions, including appreciation for a good joke and relief that this little discussion didn't actually stray into troubled romantic history.

But Lanie's feelings are the most obvious as she looks at Castle's friend in appreciation. "You, Winnie, are a treasure. I'm not sure we're gonna let you move to LA."

* * *

A/N: That does it for the quarter – Castle's finished with his commitment to the FDNY and slated to return to the precinct after a restorative stop at the Hamptons. But there's one chapter left. Hoping to post that chapter next week.


	19. Chapter 19

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional. Also, you'll recognize some dialog in this chapter. Just a few lines have been borrowed directly.

* * *

 **Week Twenty-Two**

"Look at her go," Ryan mentions to his partner, nodding at Beckett through the breakroom glass, where he and Esposito are getting coffee. Beckett's a picture of ferocious efficiency, pounding keys and finishing reports with focus usually reserved for felonious suspects.

"She's actually taking a vacation, planned in advance and everything," Esposito marvels, still surprised about this turn of events. "And you know her – she'll take this just as seriously as anything else she does. She'll probably finish the next month's worth of paperwork just to make sure she's clear."

"You don't think…," Ryan trails off, nervous about voicing an untested theory.

"What, bro?" his partner reacts, his tone of voice making it clear that he's worried that 'Castle Junior' is going to pose a 3C theory to explain Beckett's diligence – clones, conspiracies, or CIA.

"You don't think the Captain's squeezing Beckett about Castle coming back, do you?" Ryan asks. When Esposito looks confused, he tries to explain. "Something's weird between them. Don't tell me you haven't noticed?"

"Uh…"

"Just watch them," Ryan replies quickly. "Something's not right."

"So, you think it's about Castle?" Esposito asks, testing this theory. "But Cap said he wanted Castle back, right?"

"Yeah, but Castle and Beckett weren't together then," Ryan reasons. "And Castle hasn't been around much this summer."

"That's 'cause of Alexis," Esposito assures him. "They're visiting colleges all over the place. He'll be back full-time once they're done."

"I hope so," Ryan answers honestly, looking forward to having Castle back on the team. "But if it's not about him, then what's going on with Beckett and the boss?" he asks, watching Beckett rise and start walking toward Montgomery's office. She's almost there when she turns suddenly, pinning them with a look. With a curt gesture, she points to their desks and tells them both to get back to work.

"Maybe something's up with the boss," Esposito gripes as he heads toward the door, "but Beckett hasn't changed."

* * *

While on the phone, Montgomery gestures for Beckett to enter his office, making another hand gesture to encourage her to close the door upon entry. Clearly, his phone conversation is drawing out as he's looking impatient and not talking, just rolling his eyes and fidgeting. Finally, at what Beckett suspects was a marginal opportunity at best, Montgomery interjects that he's running late for an important meeting and needs to go.

Hanging up happily, he turns to Beckett. "All set for your time off?"

"Yes, sir," Beckett answers, tone stilted. It's been weeks since his return to the precinct and they still haven't managed to find a rhythm. Beckett accepts this as her fault, since her feelings about Montgomery shift and roil, leaving his placement on the spectrum from hero to villain a random walk. "Flying out tomorrow morning, back next week."

"Catching up with the college tour?" he asks, struggling himself to find a neutral topic on which they can engage.

"Tail end of this circuit," Beckett confirms, not wanting to mention her destination in particular lest it raise troubling issues. "And it's not just a college tour," she corrects with a small laugh. "Castle's a bit of a celebrity in firefighting circles now. While Alexis has been visiting campuses, he's made some stops at different firehouses along the way."

"What happened to equal time?" Montgomery grouses. "I don't remember him popping into other police precincts."

"After what happened in the spring," Beckett answers honestly, "the only precinct I want him to visit is ours."

"Good point," Montgomery accedes, casting a look around his office as if recalling how things had been then.

"Where did it happen?" Beckett asks, following his eyes. At his look of confusion, she clarifies. "The bomb. When Bracken tried to kill you."

Nodding, Montgomery spins in his desk chair. Beckett's never wanted to talk about those days, so he's more than a little surprised by the question. Still, he owes her far more than an explanation, so he obliges. "There," he says, pointing to where the blast box had sat during that fateful call. "I'd borrowed the box from the Bomb Squad, so it was all ready to go. Still," he says with an embarrassed shrug, "I was standing over there, as far away as I could get, before I answered."

"I should've know something was going on," Beckett ruminates, thinking back to those days. "I knew something was up, remember? I asked about retirement, about all your cleaning, but I didn't see past the issue with Turner."

"Have you listened to the recording?" Montgomery wonders, thinking about the evidence against Bracken that he'd given her.

"No," Beckett admits with a low tone. "It's locked away, safe in case I ever need or want it. But for now," she admits with an uncharacteristic show of vulnerability, "my nightmares don't need any narration."

"Bad?" Montgomery asks, knowing that he's pushing his luck. But after two months of awkward exchanges and silence on the tragic backstory they share, he's desperate to figure out if they can make their precinct life work again, so he willingly pushes the envelope. Thankfully, Castle isn't here to draw parallels to his riskier moves when playing poker.

Beckett doesn't speak for several long moments, leading Montgomery to sigh. At least she didn't storm out, which would've been within her rights and totally understandable. This way, they can perhaps try again sometime in the future.

"Bad and not," she confesses in a low voice, looking down. "I still have the same nightmares, which are horrible. But then they change as my mind remembers that he's gone, the man behind her death is gone. They'd probably be worse if I hadn't faced him down."

"You did _what_?" Montgomery asks in a harsh whisper of his own, sitting back heavily in his chair.

"Shortly before the end, I visited him," Beckett says proudly, raising her chin to look Montgomery in the eye. "I wanted to see him face-to-face. I wanted him to know which thread in his tapestry got pulled to unravel the whole thing. I wanted to see him before the end."

"I understand," Montgomery admits, and Beckett believes him. If there's anyone in this drama who might understand why she risked visiting Bracken, aside from her empathic partner, it's Montgomery. "The phone conversation we were talking about was the last time I spoke with him. It felt good, after all those years, to push back, to tell him that he was on his own and that the sharks were circling."

Beckett nods along with this, but remains quiet. As the silence draws out, Montgomery can't help but try to force it to a conclusion. "Beckett," he asks, "is this gonna work?"

The question, naked and lonely, doesn't break the silence immediately. But Beckett eventually sighs and begins to talk quietly, almost introspectively. "When things were at the worst with Castle, when I didn't think we could get farther apart, he told me 'we'd get there.' It took a long time to figure out where we were going and a little longer to get there, but I think we've finally made it."

Beckett goes quiet again, letting the lack of words speak for her. Montgomery thinks he knows where she's going with this, but he's not going to push. If he's wrong and this is a prelude to a declaration that the course of her life can change now that she's passed a critical milestone, he'll let her speak her mind.

"So," she finally says, "' _we'll get there_.' There are days I hate you, down to the core of my being," she admits, her harsh words at odds with their gentle delivery. "They're usually outnumbered by the days when I think of how this affected you, or how you brought it to an end. I think we're moving in the right direction, that the good days outweigh the bad. But I'll promise you this," she vows, "I'll always respect the position. I'm a Detective and you're my Captain."

"So, you're not thinking of leaving now that Bracken is gone?" Montgomery asks boldly.

"Shouldn't I be asking you the same question?" Beckett asks, a hint of her usual assertiveness returning.

"Ladies first," he replies, his efforts to conceal a small smile not entirely successful.

Beckett pauses to consider her answer, casting a look out the windows of Montgomery's office to her colleagues before turning back to her boss. "I became a cop to get justice for my mother. I don't think I achieved that, but at least she can rest in peace." Montgomery looks like he's going to interject, so she raises a hand to forestall his comments. "I'll never know how good an attorney I would've been, or if I would've gone on to do something different with my life had she not been killed. But I'm a _damn fine_ cop. I like it, I'm good at it, and I don't want to stop. Helping others get closure is no less important, no less meaningful for me now than it was before Bracken died."

"I'm glad to hear that, Beckett," Montgomery admits. "Selfishly, I want you to stay. I have hopes that we'll be able to get back to something like the way things used to be. Back then, I could give you advice and I thought you might hear me," he says with a shrug. "So, I'm gonna take a flyer here in case we get to that point again: be careful. You're a hell of a cop, but one of the hardest things for a cop to do," he admits, pointing to himself, "is knowing when to get out. I don't want you to leave now," he clarifies, "but I don't want you to let any more of life pass you by, either. Just don't blink and find yourself in the same place ten years from now."

Beckett gives this some thought, wonders how she should feel about his unsolicited advice. It seems to have been meant with good intentions, so she recognizes it would be churlish to ignore his effort.

"I'm… working on finding a balance," she offers. "It's easier now. I have help," she offers, thinking not only of Castle but of his family that so readily adopted her.

"Good," Montgomery replies. "Let me tell you one last thing before you leave," he offers, and something in his tone catches Beckett's attention. "We've jumped through a lot of hoops this year because of the mayor and his election. But you know what?" he asks rhetorically. "This was never just about the mayor. I could have kicked Castle to the curb years ago, any time I wanted to. Only reason I kept him around this long is because I saw how good he was for you."

With pursed lips that try to hide her smile, Beckett offers her boss a slow nod. With that, she stands and makes her way toward his door, outside of which another woman is waiting to speak with him. Just as she's reaching for the doorknob, she turns back to Montgomery. "Thank you," she offers gratefully, chagrined that it took years to get where she is but happy nonetheless with her boss' foresight. The thought makes her that much more anxious to see Castle again tomorrow.

Montgomery nods, mindful himself that it wasn't long ago that he was thanking her. "Have a nice vacation," he offers, finally coaxing a smile from Beckett as she leaves the office, but not before holding the door for Montgomery's next appointment. As she closes the door, she hears only the beginning of his next conversation.

"Captain Montgomery, my name is Victoria Gates," his guest offers. "And I've got some questions for you..."

Putting this conversation out of mind, Beckett's anxious to get back to her desk, shut down her computer, and get home to pack for her trip. She's only a few steps towards her desk when she notices that someone's sitting in Castle's chair waiting for her. Her guest is attracting Esposito's interest, along with that of just about every other man in the bullpen.

"You must be Detective Renoux," Beckett offers as she rounds back to her desk, offering a hand to the rising detective. "Welcome to the Twelfth."

"Detective Beckett, it's a pleasure to finally meet you," Renoux replies happily, pumping Beckett's hand. "Please, call me Camille."

"It's Kate," Beckett offers, gesturing back to Castle's chair while she evaluates Renoux. It's a good thing Beckett hadn't met her back when Mendoza was pulling his nonsense – she's what Beckett used to consider a 'Castle special' – tall, blonde, and a little busty. When she and Castle were so far apart, knowing that he was spending time with her certainly would've enflamed her insecurities. Instead, she's pulled strings to get the woman reassigned here, freed from Mendoza's spiteful grasp.

"Is Rick here?" Renoux asks, her use of his given name forcing Beckett to realize that she's not quite as comfortable with this situation as she thought. Espo's head twitch at overhearing the question certainly doesn't help.

"No," she replies. "He's visiting colleges with his daughter. I'm going to catch up with them tomorrow, though, if there's message you'd like me to pass along?"

"No message," Renoux answers with a smile. "I was just going to thank you both at the same time if he was here. You don't know how happy I am to have a fresh start. I love my job," she offers, casting a quick look around the bullpen, "but I'd started to hate working at the Two Eight. My coworkers were great, don't get me wrong," she quickly clarifies. "It's just that…"

"I've met Mendoza," Beckett offers so that Renoux doesn't need to say anything about her former captain. "Over the phone at least. I think you'll find that things run a little differently around here."

"A lot differently," Renoux offers, already comparing her old and new workplaces. "I've heard you've got a really good captain."

"It's a good precinct and he's a good captain," Beckett confirms, willing to acknowledge his capabilities in his position. "And we've got great people. I don't know many folks down in White Collar, but I've heard great things."

"You and Rick are my first introduction to the people here," Renoux answers, taking the opportunity to look around again. "If others are half as good, this'll still be fantastic."

"Hi," comes a voice from beside them unexpectedly. Beckett smirks as Esposito moves into position to introduce himself to Renoux, noticing a look a forbearance from Ryan, who's still at his desk. "I'm…"

"Detective Esposito," Renoux completes smoothly with a perched brow. "Rick told me all about you, too."

Looking suddenly worried, Esposito goes a little blank as his mind furiously cycles through the things that Castle might've said about him. The possibilities prove a little more daunting than anticipated, so that Renoux and Beckett have a chance to exchange smiles while he's lost in thought.

"Good things, right?" Esposito finally replies, though he sounds more doubtful than he should if he's aiming for a tone of confident nonchalance.

"In some respects," Renoux answers with a subtle smile, prompting laughs from Beckett and Ryan. "Anyway, I've got to run – still getting oriented downstairs, but I used my break to come up and say thanks. Kate, will you call me when you're back from vacation? I'd like to take you out for drinks to show my appreciation."

"That sounds fun," Beckett replies with a warm smile, surprising herself again. Who knows? She might even invite Castle to join them. As for Espo, who looks like he's praying for an invitation, she'll let him dangle for a bit. "If we wait until Castle's back, we can go to his bar and drink for free."

Renoux's smiling, back on her feet, and pumping Beckett's hand again before turning toward the stairs. About to depart, she cocks her head as she remembers something and spins in place, approaching Ryan instead.

"You must be Kevin Ryan," she says warmly as she extends a hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, too." Then, she's off to the stairs, leaving a smug Ryan, a jealous Esposito, and a laughing Beckett in her wake.

"So, that's who Mendoza threw at Castle?" Esposito says to Beckett, as his eyes linger on the departing detective. "She's…," he trails off as Renoux moves out of sight, turning to face Beckett and backing off due to her expression, "okay-looking, I guess."

"Nice try, Espo," Beckett laughs in disbelief as she's unable to keep a straight face. Ryan, meanwhile, simply smirks and shakes his head.

"You're off to meet Castle, right?" Esposito asks, still distracted. "Get him to put in a good word for me, yeah?" he asks. At her incredulous look, he struggles for a way to sell his idea. "You know, with you and Castle together now, you want to make sure there's no distractions, right? Best to make sure Renoux's occupied. So, really I'm just doing you a favor, right, Beckett? Right?"

* * *

"So, I guess you're ready to go, then," Lanie says sarcastically as Beckett slides into the front seat of the car after tossing her rollerboard into the backseat even before the car came to a complete stop at the curb. "I thought I'd have to help you out of your apartment again," she teases, remembering how worked up Beckett had been the morning they went to visit him in the hospital.

"Things are different now," Beckett replies with a cheeky grin, bouncing in her seat as she fastens her seatbelt. "Come on, woman, drive! I've got a plane to catch!"

"Who's the bossy one now?" Lanie complains as she pulls into traffic and steers her car toward the tunnel. "You know, you used to go months, even years, without naked sexy times and you were perfectly pleasant. Now, with writer-boy gone for two weeks, you're all worked up."

"Please," Beckett answers with a roll of her eyes. "As if that's the reason I give you trouble. Besides," she says slyly from the passenger seat, "who said it was two weeks?"

"What?!" Lanie asks, casting her friend a quick look before turning to watch the traffic again. "He and Alexis have been visiting schools for two weeks, right? And I know you worked through last weekend."

"I didn't have time to go anywhere," Beckett agrees, looking smug. "But that doesn't mean I didn't get a visit from my favorite writer."

"When was this? And why didn't you tell me?" Lanie asks, annoyed both at being kept in the dark and because she hadn't already figured this out. One of the real pains about Beckett's increasing comfort in her relationship with Castle, she laments to herself, is that she's getting better and better at hiding the details from her friends.

"Saturday night," Beckett answers with a soft voice and softer smile.

Her friend looks so smitten that Lanie's not sure whether to offer a teary congratulations or drive them into a telephone pole. "He just popped in for the night?"

"He called when he arrived – didn't tell me in advance in case I convinced him to stay out there," she explains. "While the boys and I wrapped up our work for the day, he visited with Mrs. Tremaine and then made dinner for me."

"Awww, how sweet. The little man slaved in the kitchen to have dinner ready for you after work," Lanie teases. "Was he wearing a skimpy little apron when you got home from the office?"

"It _was_ sweet," Beckett objects softly, still thinking fondly of her last evening with Castle.

Lanie feels a little bad about the way she characterized Castle's efforts, so she tries to tease her way back into a gentler conversation. "I'm sure it was," she agrees to mollify Beckett. "And I'm sure you showed him exactly how much you appreciated his efforts."

"Actually," Beckett replies, looking a bit embarrassed and irritated, "it wasn't a great time for him to visit. Had he called me before flying out, I would've explained the unfortunate timing."

"Oh, Kate," Lanie laments, cursing her friend's rotten luck. "I'm sorry. So much for a romantic dinner."

Beckett gets a funny look on her face as she turns in her seat to face her friend. Lanie notices the movement out of the corner of her eye and casts a quick glimpse at her friend, identifying the issue immediately. "Tell me," she requests after seeing Beckett wrestle with the decision about whether to confide in her friend. "Whatever he did, it can't be _that_ bad if you're still so excited to go see him."

"This is really embarrassing," Beckett objects, her flushed cheeks proving her discomfort.

"Hey, whatever, it's fine," Lanie assures her. "Some women are perfectly fine having fun then. Medically speaking, it can actually provide comfort, even if it's ..."

"No," Beckett objects quickly, "that's not what happened. What's embarrassing," she admits, probably to disabuse her friend of any other notion, "is that he _knew_ the timing was bad and he still came to visit. He cooked me a comfort food dinner, baked me a fudgy brownie the size of a coffee-table book, then had me lay down in bed with a heating pad on my stomach while he gave me a massage. I went from feeling so bad to feeling so good that I fell asleep right during his massage."

" _Liar,_ " Lanie charges immediately, annoyed that her friend is trying to spin a tale on their drive to the airport. When she turns her head for a quick look, though, she knows her accusation is off the mark. "Really?" she asks instead.

Beckett confirms her explanation with a low, throaty, "Oh, yeah."

"* _Damn,_ *" Lanie offers in wonder.

"I know, right?" Beckett replies with a self-conscious laugh. "He'd been in the air for three hours before I woke up from the best night's sleep I've had in a long time."

"Wait," Lanie interjects. "Are you telling me you haven't seen him since the massage, that he just flew across the country to make you feel better and then ran back to his daughter?"

"Yeah," Beckett replies while shaking her head and blushing again. "Now you know one of the reasons I'm so anxious to see him again."

"Don't hurt that boy," Lanie advises sagely. "As a doctor, I can tell you that the human pelvis can only withstand so much…"

" _Lanie_ ," Beckett cuts her off. "Don't make me regret confiding in you."

"Just sayin'," Lanie defends herself with a shrug. "Your man earned himself some serious lovin' with that little maneuver."

"He sure did," Beckett confirms, sounding even more anxious to see him. "But mostly because that's not why he did it. He knew I could use some comfort, so he was just looking out for me."

"Reach into the glove compartment, will you?" Lanie requests while pointing vaguely at the dash. "There's some insulin in there and I think I'm about to go into shock from all the cloying sweetness in this car."

"Green's not a good color for you, Lanes," Beckett teases with a laugh, exhilarating in the role reversal and laughing at her friend's reply growl.

"I think I'm justified in a little jealousy right now," Lanie harrumphs.

"I only got this far because of you," Beckett replies. "You know that, right?"

"You just needed to get out of your own way," Lanie replies, though her eyes look suspiciously misty as she reaches out to clasp hands with her friend. "I'm glad I could help."

"You did," Beckett confirms again. She squeezes her friend's hand to emphasize the point, then releases it to avoid contributing to a traffic accident. "I'm gonna miss you, Lanes."

"Oh, _please_ ," Lanie rejects, trying to inconspicuously wipe a tear from her cheek. "You won't even be gone for a week, and if you think of me while you're with Castle, then he's definitely doing something wrong."

* * *

As the hollow thud that accompanies the lowering of landing gear shakes her seat, Beckett takes a chance to compare the differences between this and her last flight to LAX. This time, she's in first class, having taken the opportunity to stretch out and sleep for most of the flight in hopes of landing well-rested enough to avoid any jet-lag issues. She didn't call Castle this time, either, but out of consideration – a call at 3:00 AM his time would've been a rough way for him to start his day in Palo Alto. But by now he's awoken to an uncharacteristically sappy text message from her. And even though she's embarrassed by her note, she's still anxious to read his reply as soon as she lands.

And that's obviously the biggest difference between this trip to LA and her last one – this time, she and Castle are on the same page. Their last trip here had been a critical catalyst for them, but it wasn't a comfortable trip. This time, they can enjoy each other and indulge in the fantasies that the circumstances of their earlier visit prevented.

Recalling those fantasies, and the steps she's taken to reenact them, distracts her enough that the plane's touchdown surprises her. Suddenly, she needs to scurry to gather her things and disembark, her place at the front of the line another perk of the first class ticket. Her phone is already trying to connect to local networks as she disembarks, making her way up the jetway and eager to see Castle and Alexis waiting for her.

Except they aren't there. Wondering if they landed at a different concourse and need to meet her on the other side of the security checkpoint, Beckett starts wheeling her bag towards the exit while pulling out her phone, which has two text messages awaiting her.

The first is from Castle. When she imagined the reply to her text, this isn't what she had in mind.

 **Gremlins, Beckett! But the airline insists on calling them "mechanical difficulties." We're returning to the gate. Probably gonna be late – meet you at the hotel? We'll have a wonderful dinner to thank you for this morning's text (which I'm going to frame, by the way).**

Drat. There's no other text from him and his phone rolls over to voicemail when she tries to call. So, best-case scenario, he's in the air now, on his way to LA after he and Alexis visited Stanford and Berkeley. Worst case, he's still stuck in SFO. Maybe she'll have a seat and see how much it would cost to get a ticket to meet him there. Still, there's another text to check, this one from an unrecognized number.

 **Rick's running late. Up for lunch? I'll meet you outside security. WK.**

It takes her about 20 yards to work out who WK is, and she's got mixed emotions when she does. Firing off a quick reply ( **Sounds great, just walking from my gate, be there in a few minutes. KHB** ), Beckett tries to assemble a game face for a lunch with Winnie. She'd planned for fun in the sun with Castle, not another inquisition with his sister.

Beckett's first surprise, after seeing Fred in the crowd just beyond the security gate, is the warm hug into which she's enfolded.

"It's good to see you," Fred offers after releasing Beckett. "Any other luggage?"

"Nope, traveling light," Beckett offers, managing not to blush when she thinks about how little space some of her items require. The minimalist packing was also something intended to throw Castle off the scent, since she knew he'd notice (and has no idea that she shipped a box to their hotel).

"Oh, here," Fred says as she leans down to her side and picks up a cup that she extends to Beckett. "Rick's mentioned your love of coffee. Since he can't be here to provide, I stepped in as a temporary replacement."

"Thanks, Winnie," Beckett says gratefully, though she's also a little confused. She tries to mask her questions about Winnie's motives behind the act of taking a long drink of her perfectly-made coffee. She suspects, strongly, that Castle and his friend had a conversation about this earlier today.

"So, wondering why I'm not working you over like last time?" Fred asks with a perched brow and teasing look, apparently in a very good mood. "Let's find a place to eat and I'll explain. We've got an hour before Rick and Alexis land."

Instead of addressing the main topic on Fred's agenda, the ladies exchange small talk on the way to the few restaurant options on this side of the security checkpoints. Beckett assures Fred the flight was fine, restful even. Fred chats about the local attractions Beckett should see during her visit. It's inane chatter but effective at calming them both and building a bridge for a meaningful talk over lunch.

Feeling virtuous, Beckett decides on an organic lunch stand that would earn an immediate scowl from Esposito or Ryan. Smirking to herself while she orders a hummus and beansprout sandwich (on wheat seed bread, of course), she kind of wants to send them a picture. The ladies collect her sandwich, and Fred's salad, before claiming a corner table in which they're mostly sheltered from the flow of pedestrian traffic.

"Rick and Alexis are in the air," Fred confirms after chomping on a radish, several long minutes into their lunch. "He tried to call but your flight had already taken off."

Beckett nods around a petite bite of her sandwich, noting that this explanation comports with her suspicions. "You're here looking for a place?"

"Kind of," Fred confirms. "We've winnowed the location choices down to three, so we're in the final stages of picking a lease for a Southern California office for Aegis. Once that's locked down, I'll figure out where to live."

"I'm sorry to interfere," Beckett offers politely. "It was kind of you to meet me for lunch."

"Rick suggested it," Fred replies, "and I thought it was a good idea. I'm hoping that I can have all three of you over to my folks' place in Malibu while you're here, but not right away. I think maybe you and little brother need some time alone before then," she adds with a smirk.

Beckett blushes slightly, again wondering exactly how much Castle has confided to his adopted sister. Recollections of their first meeting dance in her head, so she decides that dissembling or avoiding the topic would be a bad idea. But, she doesn't have to over-share, either. Kind of like dealing with Lanie's curiosity. "I've missed him," she offers as a simple truth.

Fred nods, wearing a small smile. "I'd say the feeling's mutual, based on his moping during our call. Sounds like things are going well."

"Winnie…," Beckett trails off, looking down at her sandwich. "I think things are going very well."

Beckett's surprised when Fred's hand lands atop of hers on the tabletop.

"I'm having some trouble," Fred confides. "I'm new to this big sister thing. Everything was crystal clear the first time we met – I needed to check you out, give you the business, make sure your interest was genuine, the whole bit," she chuckles as they both recall their first meeting in the Hamptons. "And I needed to make it clear that I'm here to support Rick."

"Message received," Beckett replies with a smirk as she looks back at Fred.

"Yep, that seemed to go pretty well," Fred agrees with a laugh while reclaiming her hand to focus again on her salad, "at least from my side. But now things are a little different. You and Rick are together and everything I hear makes me think that things are going very well for the two of you. It's a little sickening, to be honest," she confides. "And that's not just jealousy talking."

"So, what's the problem?" Beckett asks, going back to Fred's initial segue into this topic as a way to avoid her latter comments.

"Well, you know I want what's best for Rick, right?" she asks rhetorically. "When we first met, I wasn't sure that was you. But now…," she says leadingly, making sure she's got Beckett's attention, "now it looks like that might be you. So, here's my problem: I need to get a little more comfortable with you, be a little more open and accepting. Not entirely," she says quickly while reaching out to tap on Beckett's unadorned ring finger, "but closer. And I didn't leave myself much room to pivot after our first meeting. So, I'm trying here. If that's okay with you?"

"I'd like that," Beckett confesses. Castle's made it clear that Fred's a close friend with whom he intends to remain in contact, regardless of where she moves. So, life will be a little more pleasant if they can all get along. After all, Alexis likes her, and she's a pretty good judge of character. Plus, anyone who terrifies Ryan and Esposito can't be all bad.

"Excellent," Fred replies with true satisfaction. "Now I just need to coordinate with your friend Lanie and we'll have both coasts covered," Fred answers mischievously, laughing at the look of mild horror on Beckett's face. One of the advantages of Fred's move to LA was plenty of miles between her and Lanie, since it was obvious at Castle's departure party that the two of them could reach unsurpassed levels of mischief and bother if combining their efforts.

"You wanted me to be direct, right?" Beckett asks Fred. Having just taken a bite, the woman nods in affirmation. "Okay, I think that would be a terrible idea," Beckett replies, shaking her head.

Fred manages to swallow through her laughter, still chuckling after taking a drink of water. "Don't worry," she assures Beckett. "I know I've been a little rough with you. I've got a thank-you present. We just need to wait for Rick to arrive."

Fred's promise hardly allays Beckett's concerns, given her troublemaking proclivities. Still, Fred's mute on the subject as they finish their lunch and drift over to the arrivals board. Regardless of how subtle she approaches, Beckett can't seem to extract any information from Castle's friend. That alone is vexing, but she's also increasingly concerned that whatever Winnie is planning will interfere with her own surprise for this evening.

A ping from her pocket catches her attention. While she's extracting her phone, she hears a similar tone from next to her. Looking at her phone, she can't help but smile.

 **Just landed. See you in a few minutes, Beautiful. (PS, we now have a pet gremlin. Don't let me feed it after midnight.)**

Chuckling to herself, she's recalled to their circumstances by Fred. "Alexis said they just landed and that they'll be here in a few minutes."

Knowing she should be embarrassed by her excitement, Beckett decides she doesn't care as she hops on the balls of her feet as she awaits their arrival. In a few minutes that seem far longer, she finally notices Castle over the tops of several travelers. He's already seen her, judging by the enormous smile that lights his entire face.

"Kate," he sighs as he drops his bag at her feet and lifts Beckett into the air, twirling her in place and nearly sending several nearby tourists skittering through LAX. Caught off-guard by the exuberant greeting, Beckett laughs freely as she twirls, forgetting to admonish Castle for being such a goof. Once she's back on the ground and has delivered a welcome kiss, she turns to embrace Alexis, who's already managed to greet Fred.

"We need to swing by luggage claim," Castle says as the four of them start moving. At Beckett's rolled eyes, he defends himself. "Hey! We've been traveling for two weeks!"

"Actually," Fred interjects while shooting a quick wink at Beckett, "I think this is where Alexis and I will take our leave. You two could use some time to reconnect, and I've been dying to meet Meredith."

"Fred, you don't have to do that," Castle objects.

"Dad," Alexis jumps in, making it clear that this was a scheme cooked up by the pair of them, "do you really want to start your vacation with Kate by visiting mom? You _know_ that wouldn't go well. You two go have fun. I've got what I need in my carry-on, and I can catch up with you in two days."

"Are you sure?" Castle asks doubtfully, though this sounds like a fantastic idea to Beckett. "We've got a suite with a room for you, so you're welcome whenever you need a break, even if only for a little while."

"Go," Alexis says while Fred makes a shooing gesture. "Have fun."

"Okay?" Castle asks, checking in with Beckett, who answers with a vigorous nod. "Okay," he confirms as he turns back to the other ladies. Since Fred's standing right there, he wraps her in a hug.

"He's missed you," Alexis whispers to Beckett as they share their own departure hug. "Even with his surprise visit."

"He's a very sweet man," Beckett whispers in reply. "And I've missed him, too."

Alexis is still smiling when the pairs switch, allowing her to bid farewell to her father. Meanwhile Beckett's surprised by another hug from Castle's friend, who whispers "Have fun" to her.

"Thank you, Winnie," Beckett whispers, thrilled that she and Castle can get right to their vacation and skip the meeting with Meredith.

"Actually, Kate," Castle's friend replies, "why don't you call me Fred?"

* * *

"Mr. Castle? Miss Beckett?" a liveried attendant says as he approaches them on the way to baggage claim. "If you'd prefer to wait in the car, my associate will lead you there while we collect your luggage."

"That sounds excellent," Castle replies immediately, taking this offer in stride. "Don't forget…"

"Miss Alexis' luggage as well," the man interjects knowingly.

While Beckett's radar is twitching about strangers apparently knowing their itinerary and plan, Castle offers a one-word answer that resolves her tension. "Maurice."

Of course, Beckett thinks to herself. As they follow their driver out to the car, she finds herself wondering exactly how resourceful their hotelier friend might be, and how wealthy. He's certainly in position to provide many services, as he's proven already. Her meanderings trail off, however, as the bright sunlight outside has her looking up, reveling in the warm temperature and adoration of her companion.

Their driver offers a discreet knock on the privacy partition as they pull up to their hotel nearly an hour later, allowing almost enough time to make themselves presentable again. Such is the training of the staff here that no one blinks an eye at smudged makeup or an untucked shirttail. And if the staff is well trained, their leader is a consummate professional.

"Welcome back, Miss Beckett, Mister Castle," Maurice greets them cordially, meeting them at the door and escorting them directly to the elevator, leaving attendants to trail with the luggage. "I've made up a suite for you. I understand that your daughter will be joining you during your stay?"

"In a few days," Castle replies amiably, "maybe earlier. Depends on how much fun she's having with her mother."

"I'll enjoy the chance to meet her," Maurice replies. "Her room is made up as well," Maurice offers while casting Beckett a quick look. "It's quite nice," he assures them as he opens the door to the suite and proceeds to the doors to the master bedroom, "though she has only roses, not champagne," he offers with an airy gesture toward the explosion of flowers in the massive bedroom and the large, canopy bed that offers chilling bucket on each bedside table.

"Maurice, this is gorgeous," Beckett enthuses, releasing Castle's hand to wander over to the coffee table where she bends down to smell the flowers. She'd assumed, when talking to him, that he'd set them up in the same suite they had during their last visit. Clearly, however, Maurice is (as usual) going above and beyond the call.

"Might I suggest a couple's massage at 8:00 tomorrow morning?" Maurice inquires as he backs out of the room, each hand grabbing a knob to close the doors as he departs. "Perhaps a relaxing start to the day?"

"It sounds perfect, Maurice," Beckett answers before Castle can utter a word, causing him to look at her in surprised appreciation. "But better make it 10:00."

"Of course," Maurice replies as he draws the doors closed and exits their room. "Please, enjoy your stay."

"We will," Beckett whispers as she walks back to Castle and starts undoing the buttons on his shirt. "We _certainly_ will."

* * *

"That was…," Castle trails off, still panting and trying to catch his breath.

"Aerobic?" Beckett suggests, a bit winded herself.

" _Inspired_ ," Castle replies, using the arm not pinned beneath Beckett to swipe ineffectually toward the ice bucket on his side of the bed.

"You're not the only one who's invested a fair amount of thought into what we can do together," Beckett promises, distracting Castle with a full-body stretch that still leaves no part of her dangling over the massive mattress.

Finally managing to grasp the neck of the deep green bottle despite obvious distractions, Castle utters a low moan when he realizes it's empty.

"We finished that one a while ago," Beckett offers as she rolls over to throw a leg and an arm over Castle. "Even before we finished mine."

"Huh," he remarks, pulling his hand back and using it to play with her leg. "Don't remember drinking that much. 'Course, we might've spilled a little."

"Says the man who suggested that with bodies available, we didn't need to use glasses," she hums with eyebrow perched.

"Was I wrong?" he defends himself. "Seems to me that worked pretty well. But maybe I'm misrecollecting. I'll admit my mental and nervous systems are still a little overwhelmed by that filthy little trick of yours."

"Awww, you didn't like it?" Beckett pouts and starts to withdraw her leg, causing as much of a panicked grab as Castle's lassitude permits.

"I _loved_ it," he assures her, resuming his stroking. "If that's a reward for last week's impromptu visit, I'm going to start scheduling trips away just so I can sneak back!"

Beckett laughs and gives his chest a playful swat. "That was no reward – that was just a chance for us to reconnect. I missed you," she admits shyly, this form of intimacy newer and still a little more challenging for her than the joyous romp they just shared.

"Glad to hear it," he rumbles in reply. "I was afraid you'd realize how much more smoothly things ran without me underfoot and get used to it."

"Don't even joke about that," Beckett replies seriously. "We tried that experiment and it was horrible. You came back after your stint as a fireman and you're coming back after this college trip if I have to drag you back to the precinct with me."

"I'm looking forward to coming back again almost as much as Alexis is looking forward to getting rid of me," he laughs, squirming a little as Beckett's hand explores his chest. "These two weeks have been great, but baby bird is anxious to fly the nest," he says with false cheer. "Even with my visits to firehouses, she still got a little tired of dad time. Must've, if she was anxious to see Meredith."

"Hey," Beckett says seriously, taking a moment to untangle herself from Castle and the mussed linens. "There can't be a single doubt in your mind about how much that girl loves you," Beckett says seriously, more concerned about his thoughts than on the notion that this might dampen their vacation. "You remember what it was like, though, right? She's anxious to spread her wings a bit. We were, too. She'll fly back."

"I hope so," he replies seriously.

"I obviously don't know this as a parent, but I overheard one of my parents' friends talking about this once," Beckett offers, still trying to cheer him. "She said that, at best, you get eighteen years to raise your kid right. Then you lose them to school, or work, or the military. If you did your job well, they come back. You _know_ she's coming back. So, don't go packing up the lightsabers or laser tag guns just yet."

Castle's demeanor seems to lighten, but there's an odd look on his face that Beckett can't quite place. The longer she looks, the more she suspects he's holding something back.

"Hey," she says seriously, poking him in the chest as she sits beside his prone position on the bed. "How did we finally get here?"

"In the back of a steamy limo," he starts to answer before he gets another poke on the chest.

"I mean _here,_ " she says, waving a hand at them both. "Twelve weeks ago…," she starts to say before she cuts herself off with a wry grin. "Sorry: _one quarter_ ago, you and I had quite a throwdown in this very hotel. The chances of us ending up together and naked in a bed the size of my apartment seemed remote. But we finally _talked_ , Rick. To each other, directly and without subtext. So, tell me – what were you thinking about saying just now?"

Noting the seriousness of her conversation, he sits up in the bed, too, so they're on equal footing. Slowly, he reaches for her hands, holding them lightly in his before finally looking into her eyes.

"I was thinking about how good you've been with Alexis," he admits, "even before we found our way back to each other. And how good it is to hear advice from you about her. That got me thinking about other things," he says vaguely, thought the flush in Beckett's cheeks makes it apparent that she's following his line of thought. "And after your little reminder," he says, freeing a hand long enough to mimic a poke to her chest, though he's very gentle and careful to pick a location that's not provocative before lowering his hand again, "I'll confess that I'm very glad we're here and that we've managed to communicate."

"But…?" Beckett interjects, knowing something's still not quite right.

"But even if we're speaking directly, the words still have to be spoken at the right time. You make it _so easy_ , Kate," he sighs, "to want to race ahead. But I don't want to scare you off. There are direct conversations we'll have in the future, conversations to which I'm very much looking forward," he admits, lifting her hand to place a gentle kiss atop it.

"Soon, yeah?" Beckett mumbles in reply, longing and desire and fear stealing the smoothness from her voice and leaving it rough and low. "I don't want to scare you, either, Rick," she confesses, "but there are things I want for us, too."

"Yeah?" he asks, curious if she's also thinking about kids and marriage and rocking chairs and…

"Yeah," she says in a rough voice that sounds more akin to a low growl. "Including a little trip inspired by your visit last week," she says as she rises from the bed, not bothering to reach for a robe or even the bedsheet. "The car will be here to pick us up in 45 minutes – go jump in the shower and get cleaned up."

"Alone?" Castle whines, flopping back onto the bed.

"It's part of the surprise," Beckett promises with a sultry look. "I'm going to use the bathroom in Alexis' room," she says while grasping the handle of her still-packed rollerboard. "No, go on, get moving. Once you're actually in the shower, I'll lay your clothes on the b… on the sofa," she adjusts her comments, shaking her head at the colossal mess they've made of the bed. "No peeking," she says seriously, watching Castle's gleeful look sink to a pout.

"I didn't pack my FDNY gear," Castle warns her as he rises from the bed and engages in a languorous stretch that almost has Beckett reconsidering her separate-showers edict.

With a shake to clear her head, Beckett clarifies the clothing situation. "I packed what I want you to wear," she informs him with an eyebrow waggle. Just as he's looking excited again, she drops the boom. "Don't worry, Martha helped."

Expression souring as it he'd bitten a lemon, Castle sputters himself over to the bathroom door. "I'm not sure I even want to _speculate_ now," he whines. He's about to duck into the bathroom when he fakes a full-body shiver. "Thanks, Beckett. Mood ruined. Although," he reverses himself, "I'll leave the door open in case you change your mind."

Seeming to take him up on his invitation, Beckett saunters over to him, walking slowly and letting him enjoy the show. Upon reaching him, she leans forward to whisper in his ear, enjoying his visible gulp at her approach. Given his distraction, he's completely surprised by the loud spank that shortly precedes a nip to his ear. "Get moving, lover. I promise you'll be happy you did," she says provocatively as she sways away from on her way to the other bedroom.

Once she's beyond the door, Beckett hustles to the closet in Alexis' room, anxious to open the box she shipped and get this evening started. Bless Maurice, she thinks, as she sees the clothes already hanging in the closet (and probably freshly pressed, too). Taking Castle's clothes, she darts back to the bedroom and ensures that he's actually in the shower (and not standing behind the door with the water running) before she places his outfit on the sofa. Feeling like she should get some credit for not holding the clothes back and forcing him to parade around naked, Beckett darts back into the other bedroom and locks the door behind her.

Moving as quickly as possible, Beckett goes through her whole routine – shower, makeup, and even blow-drying her hair. She knows she's risking disaster by leaving a curious Castle to his own devices, but there's a lot to do, even with Maurice's help. More than once she sees the doorknob turning, but Castle either behaves himself or is unable to pick this lock.

With just minutes to spare, she's back in front of the closet and slipping into her own outfit. With one last stop at the mirror to check her jewelry, Beckett gives herself a quick once-over and decides she's ready. Walking to the door, she's about to pull it open when she instead stops and withdraws her cellphone. Dialing his number, she's unsurprised to hear it ringing just behind the door. Castle, on the other hand, was obviously surprised at having his cellphone ring when he had his ear pressed against her door, as the dull thud of his quickly-turning head made it sound like he was knocking.

Her grand entrance assured, Beckett steps forward and opens the door dramatically, revealing Castle in all his tuxedoed glory, gorgeous even as he rubs his forehead. His pouting look falls immediately from his face as he goggles at her. His obvious regard makes her blush.

" _Magnificent_ ," he whispers in awe as he steps forward and extends both hands to her.

"I don't know, Castle," she whispers in reply, her attempt at a serious reply defeated by her wide smile and happy laugh, "you've seen me in this before."

"And you're even more beautiful now than you were then," he vows.

"I'm glad you think so," she admits shyly. "Martha wanted to loan me her necklace again, but I didn't feel comfortable traveling with it. So, I had to make do," she apologizes, nodding down toward her necklace.

"It's beautiful," he assures her before he dips his head to place a gentle kiss atop the pendant laying against her sternum.

" _Rick_ ," she sighs, "the car's downstairs and we're not going to make it if you keep that up."

Shockingly, Castle decides to behave, recognizing that Beckett's gone to some effort to plan their outing and to indulge his fantasy of seeing her in the MADT dress again. Stepping to her side, he offers an elbow to escort her from their suite.

"What do you have planned for us?" he asks ask they ride the elevator down to the ground floor, where they're unsurprised to see Maurice ready to escort them to the waiting car. "A night of dancing and romance?"

"Just a night, Castle?" Beckett asks as they approach the car, stopping to face him before sliding inside. "Why not a lifetime?"

Castle's still standing there in delighted shock moments later when her hand reaches out, grabs his coat, and tugs him into the car.

* * *

.

Congratulations, you made it to the end! It was a long journey marked with long chapters, but I hope you enjoyed the ride. My apologies for the taking a little longer with this last chapter, but I was compelled to put my laptop away during vacation last week. Now that I've posted this, I can get back to stories and reviews.

Since this tale is told, a few final notes:

The motivation for this story came from my interest in exploring a situation in which Castle had to leave the precinct. I've wondered about his steadfast presence at the precinct. As much as his constancy provided Beckett with an anchor, I've also wondered if it didn't also encourage some of her riskier behavior. At the least, it's difficult to imagine her being so willing to leave in S8 if she wasn't sure he'd be there waiting for her return.

This story also provided an opportunity to have some fun pushing on other threads, like a different end for Bracken, a more engaged Montgomery, and a return of Maddie Queller. But the real pleasure came from providing Castle with an advocate in Fred Keates and from providing opportunities for Beckett and Castle to be on the same side of a fun situation (like a beach wedding or a photo shoot).

In writing this story, I was hoping to achieve a sense of balance. Both Castle and Beckett made some mistakes in their early time together and they share responsibility for their near misses. I don't blame Caste for his attempts at reconciliation with Gina, nor do I fault Beckett for not dropping Josh upon learning of Castle's interest. Timing problems, unfortunate exes, and bad decisions are all part of life. Obviously, not everyone agrees. But I really appreciated the reviews that commented on how each of them had valid points during their tense conversations.

I owe thanks to a lot of people for this story, including:

* Everyone who finished the story and didn't get frustrated by the long reveal of Castle's other job;

* CaskettFan5 for reading the early chapters of this story and helping me get it off the ground;

* GeekMom for a review of the first chapter, sharing her Fic Stream Con time with me, and somehow getting me to produce a Fireman Rick story that I didn't realize I was writing for her benefit;

* CWT for having the courage to sign his name to challenging reviews;

* Griever11 for organizing and running the Fic Stream Con;

* Old and new friends who provided reviews, comments, and encouragement along the way; and

* Friends whose names I might've used in vain (sorry!).

What's next? I'm not sure. I've got rough outlines for multi-chapter stories in S4, S8, or entirely AU. Right away, I'll start with a short bit set in S3 that I'd hoped to have written by now. If you have any preferences, let me know.

Final request: I'll make my usual request at the end of a story – if you got a kick out of the story, I'd appreciate a constructive comment on what worked for you or didn't. Please keep it constructive (though I'll happily accept positive comments, too!).


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